About all she could say was Goddammit.
She liked his vocabulary, even when his sentence structure was weak. He used "paroxysm" so naturally, was not afraid of contradictions and weak spots because he had so many. It helped, probably, that he was taller than most people and coul
(more)d see their scalps. It seemed to her that it would be easier to be weak when everyone else assumed you were much stronger than they were.
He suffered no fools but was gracious and polite to servers and buskers. He smiled when people talked and asked thoughtful questions. She assumed he was interested, and he was, but not very.
*
Just before he saw her, he started smoking again. He had quit two years earlier, but he bought another pack on his way to meet her. She was wearing the scarf he had given her. He rubbed the cigarette against a brick wall when he saw the scarf around her neck. It was a concession to the moment. At least: she still owned it.
*
The subway is almost always quieter than it seems like it should be. Even packed sometimes no one makes sound, and you hear so much metal squealing and banging, and air hissing, and Excuse Me Excuse Me. And someone drops a phone, and a man leans over to pick it up and handing it to the owner says, Miss? Miss? And she nods in thanks and looks at the screen: no cracks.
*
She expected to be so focussed on this moment, and instead she sat down and saw all of the other people and wondered who they loved and what didn't work out and which gifts they will still pick up when they want to be reminded. It wasn't him so much, she thought. Just: Goddammit.
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