Luckyshirt

“You’re here to see someone you love.”

The woman with the red hat was looking at him now.

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re here to see someone you love”, she repeated.

His smile broadened. “What makes you say that?”

“Because you’ve been sitting here alone with your suit and backpack smiling at the floor for half an hour. You’re not here on business, because you have a backpack, and not a briefcase or something fancier. And you’re wearing all black with no tie. And you don’t look like a man who would run a nightclub. So I’d say you’re here for pleasure and not business. Then there is that smile. Then there is that box you’re holding. It’s too beautiful to be holding something boring, or even something for someone boring. So who is she?”

“Who said it’s a woman?”

“True, true. I’m sorry. I should know better than to make assumptions in this city. Who is he or she?”

The subway slowed. The conductor’s voice came over the speaker. “Powell Street.”

He smiled at her sitting there in her jacket that looked like it was made for Everest expeditions, while wearing that hat he had seen women wear in groups with their purple dresses. Maybe she was a low-ranking member of that order who hadn’t earned the purple dress yet.

“Someone very close to me”, he replied.

“I can tell. It’s all in that smile, and how you carry yourself. It’s all over you.”

The subway stopped, the doors opened, and he stood.

“I knew I was right”, she beamed. “Well bless you and whoever it is, and I’ll go back to minding my own business.”

“I’m sorry, I wish I could say you were right.” He was still smiling as he stepped through the doors. He turned around to face her as she sat waiting to leave. “I’m not here to love someone. Not this time.”

His smile weakened a little.

“I’m here to kill someone.”

The doors closed, and he saw her shock through the warped glass as the train left.

(photo by wallyg)