Not All Of What Follows Is True

A recurring journal of mixed veracity.

Sunday, February 18, 2007

Hello, Goodbye, London

About quarter to four, Victoria station. Sat in the afterthought-space formed by the angles of W.H. Smiths, drinking expensive branded coffee and waiting.

Something about the two girls stood a short distance to the right seems odd. Blue jeans, pink t-shirts and baseball caps. Furry boots. One is white, the other asian. Both appear lost and uncertain.

Assistance would be positive, but standard stranger-fear prevents it. After a short amount of time a man appears, not tall but stocky, blue eyes and imperial-style beard the colour of corn. He talks to them in Cyrillic-sounding language, angry for unknown reasons.

Intervention seems positive, but standard stranger-fear and lack of proper context prevent it. The man produces a mobile phone and talks into it, still seeming angry. Then one of the girls does. Money changes hands. From the corners of eyes, it appears to go from them to him.

Then they go, him leading, the three of them disappearing into shifting curtains of commuters, leaving only the after-impression of glimpsed nastiness.

Hello, goodbye, London.

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