I was standing in line t buy a cup of noodles and I was cold, even in my oversized sweatshirt. He was right in front of me. We were close.
For whatever reason he turned around. Our eyes met.
“Good evening,” I managed to get out in time. He turned alittle more, facing me.
He just nodded and prepared to turn forward again.
“Who did your hair? It looks superb.” I rushed.
“I did.” A man of many words.
“Really? That’s neat. Do you have any bluedye?”
He shook his head no, and ran his hand through the back of his hair to muss it up even more. I watched him.
“I know this is going to sound really cliche, but are you okay?” I sighed. He, of all people, didn’t look like he needed my concern. In his black tighterthantight pants adorned in safety pins and black sweatshirt similar to mine. He blinked.
“I don’t need your sympathy.” He turned, bought something, and turned back to leave.
“I’m not giving it,” I said, letting my anger get the best of me.
And then he caught me totally off gaurd, and smiled.