Sunday, 18 April 2010

The girl in the Restaurant

She sat on her own and picked at her food. She had three courses but didn't  look interested in eating, In between courses she toyed with her mobile, never making a calll or sending a message, it was just her safety blanket, her worry beads. Every now and again she dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, wiping away a tear or just a empty gesture, something she does all the time.
Was she beautiful? it was hard to tell, so heavily made up was she it was difficult to tell what was naturally made  and what was made in a factory. You felt if she smiled she could light up the  restaurant but a smile was about as likely as a me getting out of this country before tomorrow, which considering the flight embargo had just been extended indefinitely was not just unlikely but bordering on the impossible. I wondered what made her so sad.
Of course I would never know, but her sorry filled the room like an awkward silence.

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