Commute

This morning’s commute started out drab as any other, until a vision of beauty floated between the failing, jolting automatic doors, calming their stuttered attempts at opening solely with her presence so that they slid smoothly open as if on a track swimming in WD40.

She illuminated the entire carriage, some commuters closed their eyes, certain that they were unworthy to gaze upon her.  Others shielded their vision for fear that their hearts would beat too hard.  I looked at my Sudoku puzzle.

She sat down opposite me, her brazen beauty igniting the air between us, causing sweat from my forehead to dribble into my eyes, half blinding me.

This was it, my opening, ask her to aid me – a man who’s blinded himself through pure bodily reaction to her loveliness.  It was perfect.

“I-I seem to have gone and blinded myself miss, could you possibly help me finish my Sudoku?”

“Do you know what the literal translation of Sudoku is?”  Her words filled the air with thickness and beauty and danced around like a chain-smoking Tinkerbell.

I shook my head in reply that I didn’t.

“Bachelor puzzle.  And there’s a reason for that.”

Through my salty eyes I watched her surly face return to her book.

With my horn rebuffed, the commute reverted to its original drab state, only a layer of embarrassment shading my cheeks to brighten the journey.