Monday, August 08, 2005
So, I’m a little tired from the weekend as I write this. I’d like to be face down in bed right now. Alas, I am at work and have to make it through the day before I can have another lie down.
I’m not sorry I had to come into work, I have had an extremely productive morning – I think that I am genetically coded to be in the office before 9:00am. I swear, I would love to be able to just go to work at 10:00am rather than 9 if I need the extra sleep, but some sort of obsessive gene secretes it’s juice in my brain and I MUST get out of my apartment by 8:20am. Now that I have seen The Aviator, I worry that my brain’s irrational obsession with time will get out of control and I will end up running my vast financial empire from a home movie theatre with jars of pee and milk lining the walls. OK, I may be overstating.
On the metro this morning I saw the same guy I have seen a few times. He has, what must be, the most perfect set of lips I have ever seen. It’s ridiculous. They are lovely. His girlfriend probably reaches out to touch them when they are together. Exerting a moderate amount of self-control, I refrained from reaching up to feel them against my fingertips. The pattern of his facial hair – just stubble – actually accentuated their shape. He must know what he’s doing.
Today he stood right beside me as I sat near the train door. When I looked up, there they were. He wasn’t smiling or frowning. Holding his natural expression, he just looked through the glass of the door, sometimes seeing a platform of faces speed by, sometimes just seeing his own face which, I assume, does not move him the way it moves me.
I assume he works in the arts or something. I base this assumption on his faux-hawk. Although, we are in Montreal so he could just as well be an investment banker. Anyway, he is on the train before I get on and he gets off at the same stop I do. Who is this mystery man?