Fishnets

The girl crossed her legs. 

She wore fishnet stockings. She held a crossword on her knee. I love fishnet stockings. I moved to the seat opposite. 

‘Can I help you with any clues?’ 

She smiled and tossed her hair back on her shoulders. 

‘Why not?’ 

We worked our way through some clues but to tell the truth I was clueless. I’d made an opening and searched for a meaningful second line. 

The train rattled through several stations. We passed the sewage farm and the industrial works of British Tube Mills. We crossed Grand Junction Road and hurtled by the salt flats.  

‘You know I didn’t really come over here to help with a crossword’, I said. 

‘I didn’t think you did.’ 

An opportunity beckoned. 

Again I didn’t know how to seize the moment. 

‘I’m getting off at the next stop’, she said. 

Here was another clue, another opening.  

I paused. 

The platform came up with too much of a rush. 

‘I’ll see you around’, I said. 

‘Yeah, see ya’, she said.

We never did.

 Bernard Whimpress

 © 2010

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