An eyeful of red. That’s how it shocks you. No, it does not
greet you. It makes you stop in your tracks. It forces you to look at it. Every
passerby stops, even if for a second. They click it or pose with it and as
quickly, they move on. In this age of polished edges and square shapes, it
looks misplaced. Huge bulging, round eyes, a wide grin, lush red interiors and
small wings protruding from the back of its bent back, the car is a relic of an
age that once was.
The time-traveler leans quietly against the old-timer. She
wears a white skirt with red-polka dots, topped off with a pink top and a black
jacket. She knows she is not the star. Pretty she may be, but not the star. Not
today. The cameras go-off every few seconds, yet her face doesn’t twitch a bit.
With her outfit, she looks as misplaced as the car itself.
The hunchback stands affixed at one point. He is not
interested in taking any photos. “Childish” is the word that repeats itself in
his head. Head bowed, he is drowned in deep concentration, running his eyes
over every single detail of the car. He makes mental notes about small aspects,
notes that he will never use nor remember. He raises his head just as the time-traveler
turns her gaze away from him. His head starts turning in the other direction,
but the time-traveler glances a second time.
Their eyes lock.
Her beige eyes are cold. Her expression is unchanged. He
wonders if perhaps she sees the same coldness in his eyes. A thousand impulses
tell him to look away. Instead, he works his face muscles into a smile. She
doesn’t return the response. She closes her eye for a moment as she turns her
head away, staring into nothingness. The hunchback doesn’t feel dejected, only
slightly empty.
He turns and begins to walk away, joining the ever-growing
crowd. “Note to self”, he says in his head, “that is not my area of expertise“. As he approaches the exit, he
glances back for just one last look.
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