Walk in the Streets

Every time I walk through the city from the Esplanade to Wellington, I have the same fantasy.

I hear my name being called over the footsteps of workers on their way home. It's a male voice I'm not that familiar with. I turn around and it's R. He's looking very civil outside of his work uniform. He's carrying an across-the-body satchel (his favourite accessory of choice, I'm not even making that up) and on his way home from TAFE.

"Hi!" I say.
"Hey!" he says as he walks up to me. His appearance has just made my day and I'm smiling wider than I've ever smiled before. He reciprocates.
"Har har, what are the chances?" I say. We make small talk.
"On your way home?" he asks.
"Yeah, you?"
"Yup, have time for a coffee?" he says. I crack into a billion pieces all over the sidewalk.
"Yes, let's go."

And so we do. It's a blissful, sweet dream and usually culminates with him telling me that he just can't keep it to himself anymore, that he's liked me from the first time he met me.
"That's funny," I say with this beatific smile. "I've liked you since the first time I met you."
He smiles back at me and we sit in each other's silence for a few moments.

He walks me to my bus and asks for my number. He texts later that night and we set up a date. The rest is history.

Oprah says that if you think about something enough, it will happen. I hope she is right.

J