Do you look or you do
not? But then again, the question is irrelevant. They won’t notice anyway. The
ability to not notice, that uncanny skill – sometimes it takes real magic.
And this time it
does.
I see them at the bus
stop on my way to Victoria. This Lebanese guy, conspicuously unremarkable, and
this girl from Bangladesh. The girl is dirt pretty. Which is the best kind of
dirty and the best kind of pretty. They snog, they exchange soundless jokes,
they never see us.
They are poor verging
on homeless. She hasn’t washed her hair in days, he hasn’t shaved in weeks. But
that is not the reason why none of us can’t stop dashing glances and stares in
their direction. We do that (do you look or you do not?) because we are
fascinated. Because we do not exist.
But then my bus comes
and I get on and I hope they will follow me. This Lebanese guy, this girl from
Bangladesh. But they don’t. They keep standing there, drowning happily in the
intense French kissing of the London shower. And also, they need another bus.
