Three Minute Man

She stood, oh so poised; unflattered by her surroundings – ready to reach her destination. Home bound – sorta. She watched people as they passed. Some stared; all of whom she ignored, too focused on counting down the trains approximate time, five minutes. As if her ears popped, the sounds from around her unmuted. Music is what she began to hear. Damn that shot of whiskey, she fussed. Her stomach bubbled with nausea, her body sulked from sleep deprivation – miserable. She watched a man with a bike manuvour his way through the crowd, finding a spot next to her. Nothing she thought too deeply of, just another man taking a glance – noticing her. “Excuse me, has a two train passed yet?” His words came out as easy as the answer. “No,” she said, which is where she should of left it, “it should arrive in the next three minutes or so.” She didn’t notice how clever he was at first, or at least how he thought he was. Silly girl, the time map was an eye distance away and he wore glasses. “Are you Caribbean?” Her reply formed from mere curiosity, he wasn’t unattractive but damn sure twice her age. “Actually,” she grinned, “Jamaican. Where did that question come from?” He smiled as if he won an award. “All the beautiful girls come from the Caribbean,” he stated matter-of-factly, his response as clever as approach. Three minutes – the conversation ending with relieving smiles. Fastest three minutes of her life, she thought, tuning it all back out.

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