Fuck the Small Talk — Heavyweight Tee

The train was late. The weather has been strange. The restaurant across the road has changed hands. You have covered all three subjects with a thoroughness neither of you will ever bring to them again. Every time the conversation pauses, you look at their mouth. They have begun to notice, which is doing very little for your command of local transport news.

There is a sentence available. It is considerably shorter than your account of the restaurant. You could say that you've been looking forward to seeing them. You could say that you find them distractingly attractive. You could ask if they would like to come closer, which has the useful quality of being both clear and immediately relevant to the furniture.

You ask. They move their chair.

The relief is almost as good as the new distance. You are still the same two people, with the same ridiculous amount to talk about, but nobody has to disguise wanting the other as an unusually serious interest in bus replacements. They admit they were about to ask the same thing. You suggest that next time they might lead with it. They point out that you opened with a question about parking.

You did. It was a weak beginning for an outfit you felt this good in. The broad tee, the jacket, the color at your back: you had already made several excellent decisions. It seems reasonable to let the conversation catch up.

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