Los Angeles (en route to Redondo Beach)

Oct. 4, 2014



CUTE GUY ON FAR SIDE OF TRAIN: Is this the last stop?

ME: Um…Redondo beach is the last stop.

CUTE GUY (Referencing the fact that we are stopped in between stations for whatever reason.) Oh…hm. So does this happen a lot?

ME: I don’t know, it’s my first time on the train.

Cute Guy: Oh, you going to work?

ME: Yes.

CUTE GUY: You look like you work somewhere fancy…

ME: I work at a ballet company.

CUTE GUY (Excited):  Oh! You’re a ballerina?

ME: No. I work in the costumes.

CUTE GUY:  Oh. That’s cool!

ME:  MMM. It’s a little crazy.

CUTE GUY: Where you coming from?

ME: Santa Monica.

CUTE GUY (Impressed): Oh really? Wow. You live alone?


ME: Uh, no.

CUTE GUY (rattling off the list as I negate each): Boyfriend? Husband? Girlfriend?…

ME: My roommate. Where you from.

CUTE GUY: Oh, I’m in —–. It’s pretty ghetto. I hope I don’t get shot.

ME: No! (He’s smiling and fiddling with his skateboard)

CUTE GUY: So…. (minute pause, after some searching for a conversation recharge) I think we’re the only ones on the bus.

ME (not wanting to affirm this): Uh. I don’t know.


We pull up to the final station just then. Redondo Beach. I don’t think he realized the relief I felt after that last innocent statement.  We both get off at different exit points. He passes by me on his board as I stand on the platform.

CUTE GUY: Good luck with your job, and the roommate and the crazy boss.

ME: Thanks. Good luck with your ghetto hometown.

CUTE GUY: Yeah…hope I don’t get shot.

ME (he doesn’t hear): I’m sure you’ll be fine.





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