Sorry Sorry

The queue moves slower than a snail. The youngster in front of me fidgets and jumps from one foot to the other and I’d like to tell him something about respecting my personal space but one doesn’t make a fuss at the post office.

The queue shuffles forward. The youngster takes a half-step back and steps on my foot. ‘Sorry,’ I mumble. He doesn’t even turn around to apologise. It’s disgraceful. When the queue moves again, I wait, painfully aware of the glaring that goes on behind my back.

I turn and mumble sorry. There are understanding nods. The relief.

***

Story 18 of 31 for Story A Day May.

Chance Encounter on Parliament Hill

100 words about a chance encounter on Parliament Hill
ah, Hampstead Heath (c) Sonya, 2009

You take a deep breath. Underneath the chill, you smell a hint of spring. An icy gust of wind blows away budding hopes of it arriving soon. You hop from foot to foot to keep warm.

‘Lovely despite the weather, isn’t it?’

The voice startles you. You came here to be alone by choice, but you swallow your annoyance.

‘It’s my favourite place in the city.’

‘Mine, too. Do you mind if I share the bench with you? Just until the sun has risen.’

‘Please, sit.’

To your surprise, sharing a chilly morning’s sunrise with a stranger improves the experience.

***

Story 11 of 31 for Story A Day, inspired by this week’s WP Discover Challenge.