Overpass

He glances down at the road and sees the Number 65 pass underneath. He doesn’t like taking the overpass in the evening (though the sunset today looks brilliant).

There’s someone approaching from the other side, but in this light it’s not obvious if it’s a guy or a girl.

He squints and rubs his eye to disguise the fact that he’s looking.

It’s a woman.

And now he wonders, as he always does when he walks past a woman alone in the evening, whether she’s frightened of him.

He hopes not. But would it be somehow affirming if she were?

Ridiculous thought.

He contrives his body language to be unthreatening, makes sure he avoids eye contact.

But their eyes meet

She looks away.

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