opinios

Again.

But it was ok - when I was in the right mood I enjoyed doing a spot of writing anyway, capturing some of the characters that I shared the commute with. I had recorded quite a few portraits of everyday commuters that I bumped into, sat next to, observed from a distance. Sometimes I even struck up a conversation with a complete stranger purely for that purpose. I found the people-watching fascinating, there were so many different individuals.

But not tonight. My energy was not up to the level required to scan for suitable subjects, I just wanted to sit and vegetate.

"Youse don't mind if I sit here, do youse?"

My subject had found me instead. Paul (well, he looked like a Paul) was a large man. Messy blond hair danced around his face as he turned his head my way. The sleeves of his well-worn jacket were too long for his arms, so that his grubby hands were paritally concealed from view. His tracksuit pants were dotted with different coloured specks of paint, and his eyes told a past of trouble that he was not proud of.

"Nah, go for it mate."

I returned to my book, and it was a couple of pages later that he surprised me.

"Way home from school."

At first I thought he was telling me, but after my nod of vague interest was met with a blank stare, I realised that it was a question.

"Oh, me? No, I've been at work."

"Yeah? What do you do?"

"Oh, I'm a computer programmer type."

IT Consultants never know how to describe what it is that they do. Because they work for a consulting firm, they hold the strong belief that they are consultants; specialist advisers that have been called in because of their exception skill and knowledge. They're not, they're programmers. They cut code.

"That's all right!"

I could tell Paul was struggling with this encounter, but trying really hard to develop his social skills. But he was really trying. Maybe he was making the effort to socialise with someone who he deemed had their life on track, in the hope that he would find his own way. I got the impression that he had been used to putting on a tough guy front for a few years, so never really learnt to be friendly. Now that he realised that it was kinda rewarding to be nice to people, he was making up for lost time.

"Oh, it's ok. I don't enjoy working this late though, it's a long day. What about yourself?"

"Oh, spray painter."

He raised his grubby hands and shrugged. I realised he had probably had a pretty long day too. In fact, he probably started at 8. I have the luxury of being able to waltz into the office at 10am and stlil get away with it. I began to think of something else to ask Paul, but I stopped myself. I probably could have given Paul a bit more response for his efforts, but I was tired. And my book was a good one. I went back to it and let Paul think of something else to say if he wanted to keep the conversation going.

I guess not. We shared awkward silence for a few more train stops.

It wasn't until we arrived at my stop that we spoke again.

"You live around here?" he asked. It looked like he was now desperate for some companionship, scared that I might be getting off because he had been bothering me or something.

"Yeah, I replied", smiling to reassure him. "Seeya".

"Yeah, seeya dude". Paul seemed convinced.

I felt elated as I stepped onto the platform - Paul had been my omen. Coincidence trying to tell me that I was onto something with this writing business and that I should pursue it.

So here it is.

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Submitted by Matthew Magain