Boldfaced Gal

So today, suffering from this little fresh cold, dressed like a lil rebel in jeans and duffle coat, I bounce into the Advance Ticket office, and lo and behold, I was the next in line to deal the dark, creamy skinned, long, long dreadlocked brother man.

And chile, I didn't have to take no lead to flirt, the brother was on it as soon as I told him what I wanted. He tell me he feel he wants to get to know me, that I look like I am worth getting to know. He ask me how long I was in England, and if I am living in South London.

When ticket and ting done print, ah pick up meh tings and get ready to make my way. He says he knows I'll come back next week to renew my ticket; I tell him that the last two weeks he was much to busy to talk to me. He said, well next time.... next time.

I smiled, flashing meh dimple an ting, and lawd oi... that is one gooooood loooooking African, oui? Why ah doan bother with lipstick when I making these runs... monilove always telling me you never know who you're going to meet and is so true.

As I walked outside I was thinking to myself, don't let the next time be a long time from now brother... then I remembered a buff ah give monilove self when she flirts with brothers she never gets to see again. Girl, what wrong wit you, ah does buff. You like de man, you find he fine, next time you meet one like so, write ya phone number down and give the man so he could call you. No point in wasting a good flirt....

WELL....

See ya girl: Getting ready to slide down the escalator and run my route... when meh mind say, better smoke a cigarette before you go... and I did. I was standing there in what I am coming to think of as 'my station' and watched the weekend travellers, and the station workers.

Chile, I had to take meh own advice. I reach down in my bag for the pen that an old veteran journalist told me never to be without my first week working as a reporter at the Guardian more than ten years ago now, and the little notebook I am never without, tore out a piece of paper and wrote my numbers down.

Then I went back into the station, and four Muslim girls--all Somaili or Ethiopian looking--were standing at his booth. As soon as he saw me, pretty white teeth flashed  and big smile. I stood to wait, but he waved me over. I said excuse me politely and pushed the little piece of paper with the digits under the window.

He said, "Oh...." I smiled again, and said 'Bye', and walked down to the Underground with a laugh bubbling across my face. Ah bold, oui? Ah bold face no ass....

Yeah... but the brother was that fine.

I hope he's not a torturer. You know the kind, the ones that never call or take forever, or just don't bother. Something in those dark eyes, dark skin... hmmmmm....

Why don't I wear lipstick on these jaunts?

So allyuh find a bad now, oui?