Monday 3 August 2009

Tales by the swine flued London

This evening I was minding my commuting business in the main square of Paddington station, in between the Isambard pub and the island with the automatic ticket machines and the automatic passport photographer, when the guy in white and orange horizontal stripes trotting in front of me hands forwards threw himself on the ground.
For a split second, while he was sunsetting, I thought he may have spot some gun, perhaps the beginning of some other vile terrorist attack, but then I saw her, blonde, piercing clear eyes, a wet napkin kept at some distance from her face, sneezing.
Sneezing. Sneezing in my face.
It happened in what seemed an instant, the white and orange striped guy sprang back on his feet, the sneezing young lady went sneezing to the next commuter, and I went on walking, shocked, mouth tight, in complete apnea, until I got the courage to step out of the stream of commuters, get my own napkin, and clean away her mess from my face.

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