The girl in the park was clearly upset. I wanted to go over there and ask what was wrong. I realised two problems – possibly more.
Firstly I was a stranger and maybe a stranger talking to her was the last thing she wanted.
Secondly she was gorgeous. Her hair was a little wild around her and she wore quirky hippy-ish clothing. I stopped myself because I knew that had she been fatter or older or had I had a girlfriend, I would have walked by. So I asked myself whether I should go up to her.
Could I go over their? It seemed wrong when the thought of a date was so high in my mind. Could I start a casual conversation?
How would I do this? Cheesy lines came to the front of my mind – none would do and by this point my motives were not exactly honourable.
It was worth a try. I was walking that way anyway. As I got closer I saw she was clutching her mobile.
“Bastard,” she said.
I found myself feeling animosity toward the unknown message-sender. Next to her was a book I recognised. It was a way into the the conversation.
“Being a bastard is almost his job by now.”
“What,” she said rubbing her eyes.
I pointed to the book.
“Not that,” she said, “my boyfriend. He dumped me in a text.”
“Bastard,” I said.
She smiled gingerly, “I’m Sally.”
“Lee,” I said.