“Are you in trouble?” he asks me, and I look up as the first light of day emerges behind his body.
“No.” I reply, puzzled by this strange mans question
“You are writing madly in your notebook.” He says
“Oh” I am still puzzled.
“Are you in trouble? Are you writing home to your family?” He asks again.
“No” I wonder why he thinks this “just my thoughts” I tell him. I smile, and he returns the smile, his dark eyes sparkling from under his beanie.
“Poetry.” I add
“Oh you are a poet?”
“Hopefully. Trying.”
The tram approaches.
“I am a night shift worker, and I dream of things like poetry.” He begins to walk toward the tram. Just as he is about to board the tram he turns back towards me.
“Good luck” looking me directly in the eye. A connection with a stranger I had never felt before, like for this moment he understood everything about me. “I might read about you one day.” He adds as he steps up onto the tram.
I am left with my thoughts.
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