This is the first time I’ve not wanted to speak to a stranger. I’m tired of trying. I see the puffed ruffled sleeves on your shirt and how the elastic trim is digging into your forearms. You pull a pint, you announce it with a raised eyebrow. I have nothing more to report. You take my money, you return my change. I’ve done this too many times now. I request the time, just to say something. You glance at your watch and tell me. And the man next to me orders shandy and asks me if I think it’s late.
Speak to Strangers 