It seemed to be going well. She was laughing. I was laughing. Those were the right ingredients. She made music. I loved music! It was going great. Then a man streaked past the table in a blur of obscenities and into the centre of the park where the streetlights caught him in a way that in one short moment he looked like he was about to deliver an aside in a play.
(enter stage left, the man who had been chasing him) “You piece of fuck, Oliver!” he yelled as he caught up, grabbing Oliver by the collar and giving him several short uppercuts to the nose and gut. Two others came and yelled down at his crumpled person before leaving.
There was a lull in our conversation. Things were not going as great as before. Especially for Oliver. Sobs rose from him like smoke, dissipating then reappearing with each guttural bawl.
“Should we see if he’s alright?” She asked. Besides the crying I thought he seemed fine. Looked like a hard lesson learned but nothing to fret over and we were really just starting to hit it off and I didn’t want to lose momentum. “I’m going to go check on him.”
“Hold up, I’m coming.”
Portrait by Mia Dungeon for #POBEshow 2015