Whats a man to do? Ive just started my new summer job, which mostly involves making sandwiches on a pavement café. Its not amazing, and I still get nervous and shake when the customers watch me clumsily spoon fillings onto the mangled bread (this is, of course, due to my efforts at cutting it). But Im sure that in a few more days Ill be wondering what all the fuss was about. But theres a problem the man at the bus stop. I recognise him, slightly. That is to say, I think I do. I think he lives on the same road as my parents, which is where Im also staying right now. His face and body shape and walk are all remembered from my childhood, but I cant be sure if hes simply a look-alike. Every morning when I get to the bus stop, hes been there too. Standing quite a distance away from the pole, underneath a tree. Probably because its shady there. His face doesnt betray any recognition on his part, but out of the corner of my eye I watch him do the same back to me. I want to say hello. I like to think that Im the kind of guy who says hello to older people. I want to debunk their theories that were all disrespectful scum. Im tempted to say morning and leave it at that. Maybe it could become a daily routine. The sort of mundane, middle-of-the-road tradition that cements itself into your day to the degree that when it stops without warning, it can only mean that somebodys died. Im now certain that he lives on the same road as my parents do. But the fact is that I already have my own mundane, middle-of-the-road tradition. I like to spend my half-hour bus journey reading or listening to music. That buffer zone between my house and work is important to me. It gives me time to reset my head, to plan out my day in mental images and look at the people who get onto the bus. Theres the danger that I could say something to this man, and then every day after that Id have to talk to him. Even if its just a simple hello, that wouldnt do. Id walk out of my door expecting it, building up to it. And what if he wants to converse. Not just today, but every day after that? No. He knows who I am, I know who he is and he may or may not understand why I dont say anything. Of course, theres the possibility that hes thinking the exact same thoughts as I am. So well peep at each other from the edges of our coronas until September, when I move back into my student house and forget about this needless worry.
Its hot and my neck feels prickly. Ten minutes after the bus is due to arrive and theres still no red smudge at the end of the road. I could put on my glasses so I could see a bit further, but then means taking them off again would reveal the abysmal state of my eyesight to me. Im going to put that off until Im in the café and Im not able to take them off for a few hours. Oh, sod this. Lifes about breaking through comfort zones, and Im going to do it like a knife-wielding man whos been trapped in a blimp. Im not going to think about this any longer. I stand a bit straighter, summon my forces underneath the camouflage of a cough and say: Morning'...
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