(part 2)

He walked the path by the river. It was Thursday lunchtime, a chilly yet sun-drenched testament to nature, within the confines of the CBD. There was no swimming in the river. Instead the swans and council-installed fountains contributed a relaxing, metaphoric haze into the air.

The boy strode with purpose past the queue of silently standing benches occupied by business suited sandwich eaters or resting single mothers. He hunted his own location, tracking an exposed wooden bench facing the tiny river waves. Wind whipped his hair as he unfolded the notebook and unsheathed a biro. Trendy trainers pounded the footpath past. The elderly and the middle-aged strolled by. Their faces were not memorable.

As he sat writing the wind stroked his stubble thoughtfully, perhaps coincidence or perhaps cause for the periods of frantic scribbling and the moments of pensive, pen-in-mouth pondering. Occasionally he glanced up, sparrows appearing in his peripheral giving him chance to peer about.
Words were put down and the writer found confidence in perhaps this, or perhaps a glance. His gaze followed a solo, walking girl in a cotton dress. With pen held he smiled at her; she approached his bench.

'What are you writing?' she asked.
She had reduced her walking now, feet moving only in passive shuffle. There was gazing, as he checked her body, and her face for sincerity.
'It's a story about a jacket?' he finally spoke. His chest swelled.
'What kind of jacket?'
'An ironic one; it's an ironic story.'
'So... what? You're writing to achieve the opposite of the purpose?' she questioned.
'Umm, the jacket's a statement. In the context of this notepad. In this place. It's a piece of fiction throwing something into reverse.'
'Hmmm..' her lips moved. 'I don't think you're invested in that story and I don't think your writing's ironic. I think you're writing because you want it to help you pick up.'
He laughed, and deliberately laid a hand on her hip for the count of two seconds.
'How do you think that's working for me?' he winked.
She looked at the story, it was finished.
'Ironically.'

Comments

Megan

resting "single" mothers???? how do you know that?

July 31 2008 - Like
Brad

It's my fiction, Megan, I can make people whatever I want.

July 31 2008 - Like
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