I noticed that this man was doing a bit of "close talking" with the woman next to him. You know, the kind where you're 2 inches from someone's face, rather than the socially acceptable 2 feet? The woman didn't seem too troubled though, so I assumed the man was her father, or grandfather, or great grandfather. Yes, he looked that old.
As I looked down between the two of them, I got a glimpse of a portfolio filled with pencil sketches. Half drawn faces, landscapes, houses, you name it. Every now and then, the old man would find another paper scrap, lift it up (again, too close to the woman's face) and begin talking furiously in his European accent.
"Oh, that's nice," I thought, "he's showing his work to his daughter, or grand daughter or..." You get the idea.
When the next stop came though, the young woman stood up and got off the train. Of course, not before the old man could give her one of his drawings and blow her a kiss. It was only then that I realized that these two people were not blood related whatsoever. They hadn't even known each other before this short train ride. Their only relation was that of an artist to his audience.
As usually happens on late night trains, another person quickly took the vacant seat. As soon as she did, the old man began his process all over again, talking with her the same way he had been talking with the previous girl. Who knows? That old man, or should I say artist, is probably still on that train giving away drawings and blowing kisses.
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