Liam Perrin

She had crossed paths with a lot of oddballs, and here was another.

“New Kent Road,” he said. He caught her eye and smiled. “Telecommuting too?” he asked.

“How did you know?” The words were out before she could stop them. She clenched her jaw against any future betrayals by her own mouth.

“Comfortable clothes. Laptop. Coffee shop for an office.” He shrugged. “Just a guess.”

He sipped his cappuccino. She tapped her keyboard.

“Elephant and Castle,” he said.

She squinted. He smiled.

He sipped. She tapped.

“St. George’s Circus,” he said.

She shut her laptop. “I have to know.”

He touched his ear piece. “Bus driver,” he said.

She swallowed and never rode public transportation again.

He was clearly a fool, but he had a certain bearing she found attractive.

“Assumptions,” he pontificated, “are like flaws in a fine painting.”

She didn’t walk away.

“After you spot one you can’t stop seeing it, can you?”

She shook her head in agreement and looked where he was looking.

“It draws the eye every time you pass it by. It comes to consume your attention until you can’t stand it and you reject the whole canvas or-” He tilted his mask and sipped his drink. “You decide it’s an essential part of the beauty of the work.”

She cleared her throat. “You assumed this was a costume party?”

Yes.” He nodded. “Yes, I did.”