Seamingly

So today I was sitting in the train waiting for it to depart from the station and in walks this bloke in his late thirties who had been standing on the platform finishing off his cigarette.

I was mildly annoyed at him, partly because he decided to sit right across from me (aargh now I might have to make *eye contact*) and partly because he blew a cloud of cigarette smoke my way which made me cough.

I eyed him with some derision. Trousers with brown scuffs over the knees, old shirt with a frayed collar, water stained boots. Fingernails dirty and cut very short, nicotine stained skin, small scars on the fingertips. A builder or gardener, perhaps. Strange tattoo on the forearm - a golden crown and intersecting hearts and...'A Rhs Neg'?! His blood type? Most unusual.

He reached into his haversack and extracted a battered looking plastic bag containing a magazine, which I assumed would be the latest edition of Playboy or FHM or some such rubbish.

The magazine was called 'Crossstitch Patterns Vol 1'.

He wiped his hands meticulously on his trousers, then opened the magazine and took out a small square of fabric and a small packet containing some needles and coloured yarn. Deftly, he threaded a needle, examined the crossstitch pattern closely and started work.

It was a pretty piece of embroidery - a fairy princess in a pink dress waving a golden wand. He'd obviously been working on this for a while - the picture was almost complete. It would make a fine gift for a little girl - a daughter or a niece.

This hefty, mean looking fellow holding a fine needle in his workworn fingers, making a present for somebody he loves.

He got off at the next stop, carefully putting his project away and tucking it back into his haversack.

The train continued on its way and I watched as he ambled off down the platform. I leaned back into my seat and looked at my reflection in the window, wondering: What do people think when they see me?