I am with a group of Italians waiting to take the train from Palermo to Milan. The group is a mix of men and women in their 40s. And one woman wears her hair short, and straight, with spiky brown bangs.
She is thin, tall, and not classically my type but she has a sexuality about her.
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She is with a boy, much younger. And they are sitting on a bench next to the whitewashed wall of the station. The bench is on the cobbled street of the station road, but the entrance to the station lies further up the hill.
The boy is not up to the challenge. As we wait to leave for the train, the boy kisses her but he is clearly out of her league and she tells him as much.
So I sit with her. At least I am between his and her age and I might be a bit more mature.
I kiss her slowly, see her long face and chopped hairstyle up close.
She is good to kiss.
Then the rest of the group say we need to leave, so we get up to walk to go to the station. And once inside the ticket office, a small space, a dark wooden partition with white floor tiles, we go up to the ticket booth. The man behind the glass panel says the train to Milan has just left.
“So we’ll get the next one,” I say.
“The next one is not til tomorrow,” he replies.
“There is not another one today? It is ridiculous, it is such a short journey.”
But it is what it is. We will have to stay another night.
The woman lies down on a white marble bench in the darkened ticket office, stretches herself out the length of the bench, arms stretched above her head.
We will have to stay here for the night.
Her hair is long and wavy now, reminds me of Gina Lollobrigida, her long brown wavy curls falling around her face and arms and neck.
Colorized image by oneredsf1 via Flickr, cropped
