He walked through the long corridor

of Green Park tube station.

There was a strong backdraft

that pushed him from behind.


He entered the train heading westbound

to Russell Square, on the Piccadilly line.

It was packed with every kind of person

imaginable–the weird, school kids,

the bankers, tourists, parents with babies

and then there was her.

She had shoulder-length brown hair.

She was slim, pale and had piercing green eyes.

She was wearing khaki chinos

with a white Ralph Lauren Polo shirt.

A black choker on her neck and holding

a book.

Murakami’s 1Q84.

The same book he was reading.

There was a hush in the air

as their look lingered for several seconds.

She looked at him, smiled and lifted

her eyebrows.

He looked at her and said,

“If you can’t understand what just happened now

without explanation,

then you won’t understand it

with an explanation.”

She smiled and remembered the line in the book.


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