I sat down at the cafeteria today. Saw a guy eating his lunch. There was a bird on the chair, a small brown one. The bird, not the chair. Picked up Ian McEwan's Atonement. Began to read. I remember finding something Robbie said very interesting, but I have forgotten exactly what it is. I try to film the birds. They slip and slide across the surface of marble tables, picking up food. They soil the chairs. The guy finishes his lunch. Rice and fish I think. He gets up and leaves. I look at the leaves swaying. Sometimes I wonder if they know I'm there, watching them. The leaves that is.
The guy comes back. He's got another lunch. He flashes a guilty smile at me and I wonder why. Why should he care if a totally random stranger think it wierd that he eats two lunches in a row? I do. There is an ant on my hand. I watch it climb higher and higher up my arm. How does an ant climb? Does it have sticky feet? Or is it so small that my skin looks like a horrendous wasteland to it. Pores the size of craters. I try not to think. The guy finishes his second lunch. Nasi lemak I think. He gets up and leaves. He flashes me another smile so I return it this time. A slight curl on the left side of my lip. I brush the ant away. It's crawling into my sleeve. I wonder if I should get some food myself. No point I suppose. Couldn't even if I wanted. I'm broke.
The guy comes back. He's got a third lunch. Yellow rice and curry chicken this time. How much rice can one person have in a day. He flashes me another one of those guilty smiles. A slight laugh. He tries to start conversation. The right corner of my mouth upturning this time. I think he thinks that I am mocking him. Or looking with scorn. I am not. not scorning him, I am looking. I find it curious. How can someone eat so much and still stay so thin. I let it slip from my thoughts. Unimportant. I get back to the Atonement. Robbie Turner is helping a Gypsy catch her pig. He's got something in his side. Shrapnel maybe.
My thoughts wander, why do gypsy's always wear colorful clothing? Do gypsy's like pigs? Are pigs considered lucky? Does she intend to eat it? I see more birds. Small brown ones. Cheesecake birds, Anthea calls them. This is getting tiresome. I think about perception. I remember walking into the lift this morning. There was a handprint on the wall. Oily, dirty. I take a picture of it. It looks eerie somehow, in my photograph. The handprint of a ghost. It could be. A handprint of someone I don't know. Someone not there. Probably untraceable. Unnoticeable. A ghost.
My phone rings but it is not a call. A message. It jolts me out of my stupor. My heart flutters at the sight of those words. Amazing what words can do to you sometimes. The message read;
"OMG there's a squashed crow in the Monash carpark..."
I get up and leave.
