.. love for one pound twenty ..

It's like looking into a mirror. Well it would be if I happened to be extremely good looking and female. God she is gorgeous.

Maybe I'm just kidding myself but she seems to be doing similar things to me. Breaking eye contact when she knows I'm looking, nervously looking down at her hands and every now and then biting the left corner of her bottom lip.

Ten seconds, I counted. That was ten seconds. We held each other's stare for that long. Ten seconds and it was me that looked away. Now stay calm. This could go one of two ways;

One, she fancies me and I ask her out to success.
Two, she thinks I'm a mad stalker and will kick me in the testicles.

Either way my groin will feel the final affect.

Actually, there's a third, what if she's a mad stalker? Well for obvious reasons I couldn't kick her in the testicles. Come to think of it I'd like that. Not kicking somebody in the testicles, to have a mad stalker as attractive as that. What could possibly be the downside of a stalker like that? Sure she could be good with knives or memorising phone numbers but I'd never do anything to harm a queen like her.

Mad, mad is good. As long as it's only one bun short of a bakery and not bricks, cement, manpower, business plans and buns short of a bakery, it should be fine. I've just noticed how hungry I am - very.

I'm sat at the back of the bus and she at the front on one of those side seats. At each stop people get on and struggle to find an extra ten pence once they find out the fare is now one pound twenty. 'I'm not paying that', says a little plump balding man after paying that and sitting down.

Her ears are perfect too. I wonder what she's listening to through those headphones. Something sophisticated and cultured no doubt. Something by Bach, Verdi or Beethoven. What? If that look she's just given me is anything to go by she's listening to 'How To Make Males Think You're A Mad Stalker - Volume One'. Was that a wink? Maybe her tape just changed to side two. What shall I do? If she starts to dribble I'll leave, that's definite.

The bald plump man gets up and changes seat eclipsing my view of the girl. Idiot. I'll have to shift my position slightly and angle my head a little differently. It's worth the extra strain. There she is again. The eclipse is over and it was well worth the wait and no amount of specially tinted glasses or TV coverage reports could make it any better.

A pout that's what I think it's called. A pout? She pouted at me. Either that or she likes imitating fish. That's one fish I wouldn't mind tempting with my bait. Why did I just think that? Who cares? I'm feeling something I haven't felt in a long time. I have officially received a 'pout'.

Her hands are now up at her face. She's making circular motions on either side of the top of her head. She must have a headache or something. Maybe the Beethoven is a bit too loud. He had a tendency to get loud. I bet his neighbours were always banging on the walls - he didn't know that though, obviously.

Something needs to happen soon it's my stop next. That's typical isn't it? I'm usually moaning about the bus going too slow but today it's going too fast. I wish it would start going backwards. I want more time to appreciate this work of art.

The bell rings.
The bus slows.
The bus stops.
The doors open.

I slowly rise from my seat and, whilst doing so, notice her getting up to leave too. Yes! I think she's into me. She's going to ask me out. There's one person at the bus stop. A big rough looking fella. Rugby player probably. The reason I notice him is because he waves at the girl, my girl.

As she makes her way to the door a cassette case falls from her pocket. She hasn't noticed and gets off. She's in his arms. Damn it. As I get nearer to the bus exit I pick up the fallen cover. A picture of a young looking woman stares out at me under the words, '52 facial expressions to a better complexion'. Shit.

.. back ..