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.