“You’re original!” she said
As she kicked a stone across the path
We didn’t look up
We barely looked down
It was late to be out in the town
I knew we were different
But some small connection had been made
I wanted to acknowledge it
Before the moment passed
But the pressure
Of silence
“Show me your hand!”
I held out my hand
I had nothing to hide
She looked at my palm, smiled
And ran away
I looked at my palm
My foot lent on its side
Beside an old railway arch
Alone, familiar, but comforted