He stood there amoungst the din and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clutching the blood red wine protectively, like a mother with baby in hand, to his chest.
Awkwardly he peered past the crowds into a non-place of private reverie, appearing disinterested but, in secrecy, terrified. Back once again in the company of these strange people, the artists.
What would his forefathers think to see him in such decadent of circumstances, standing resolutely on the fringes of reality, the plateau of reason. These were the secret agents of kulture production.
The boys in their hoodies chattering away aggressively, awaiting their turns to speak. Not quite alpha males but with definite aspirations. A palpable atmosphere of ordered and well considered respect abounding.
Through the chaotic rabble a couple of cool green eyes settle upon him and hold him captive and transfixed, somewhat of a snake charmer, a navigator of the doldrums, a strange being from the hinterland.
It was that girl from the North country, Nordic in appearance, pale and beautiful, unmistakeably
She senses his confusion and utters his name. "I knew somehow you would be here." Perplexed he fumbles for the words and instinctively assumes one of his selves invented and perpetuated for existential protection, hoping that somehow his act goes unnoticed. His fathers advice on first impressions in the foreground of his mind.
He grins manically. She peers at him curiously as he drinks in the lagoons of her eyes full of deep-water and darkness. Incredulous he slinks off to attempt some wine procurement but gets caught in a net of conversation. "Sorry, there was none left." - Apologetically glimpsing flashes of a most supernatural delicacy and patience. It is time to go, She West and he East. Two figures fade into the fluorescent blackness of the cold cold night.
So went the meeting of two humans in an art gallery.
21:35 GMT, 4th of February, 2011AD, Glasgow, Scotland.
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