What is it about public transport that brings out the inner freaks of the already freakish?
I was happily sitting on my air conditioned train, reading my free newspaper when someone comes down the aisle. The train lurches and dude leans over me. He stays there (trying to regain his balance I assumed) until long after the train has steadied again, before taking the seat opposite me.
Dude was wearing cut off denim shorts, a wide open white shirt, with copious amounts of chest hair, and more wrinkles than a shar-pei.
About halfway into my trip he interrupts my reverie to ask where the train was headed. I supplied the intended destination. He began to ask me about the train route. I told him I didn't know, it was an express and I got off at the first stop.
He leaned back and I put my headphones in again.
Then a tug at my paper. I pulled down the corner and looked at him. The old gent was asking about my heritage. Guessing my heritage is no easy task, let me tell you. He was Italian and thought I was Greek. Smile and nod, headphones in ears.
A tug at my paper. I figured the old guy just wanted a chat, so I tolerated it. The questions about what I do, where do my family live, where I work, where I live. After each question I'd put my headphones back in and return to my paper, clearly just wanting to be left the fuck alone. Only to have him tug at it a few minutes later. I told him what suburb I was in and a very loud voice in my head screamed at me to NOT give out personal details. Finally he tells me that he goes out in Parra alot. He's single and looking for a partner.
As if that didn't cause a recoil in my belly, then he had a good, long stare at my boobs.
I began counting the stops. 'Old Gent' had officially become 'Crusty Fucker'. Those four stations have never, never had such a long distance between them.