Rodney Sanches
On Which Andrew and I Met Fagin
We were smoking the cigarettes of people who quit smoking outside of a pub in cold, 80% grey London night. Pints on the ledge and discussing in detail, important information and pertinent observations.
We were approached by two fellas, one older, dusty and emitting synthetic bonhomie, the other; young, with face organised by fast, heavy collisions and on the run.
Age moved forward in conversation and desire to evaporate proximity, youth leaned back and worked at transmitting jovial normality while absorbing the lessons being taught by Fagan.
He leaned in, discussing many new topics, switching topics and addressing focus on a metal pin on my lapel. His wish to stand close was inversely proportionate to my Canadian reflex for space. He was perturbed by his inability to stand 3cm away from me.
Andrew and I finally were able to distribute our disquiet in sufficient quantities to swamp the interrupters activities and eventually they departed and we continued to drink.
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