Oct. 4, 2014
INT. -METRO GREEN LINE.
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?
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.