remote cards

I’m having a quick bite to eat, sitting by the window, and I glance out the window, which looks out into lane. There is a Chinese guy, coming out a side door – I think there is a Chinese restaurant just at the front. He waves a hand, then holds up a finger – ONE! I glance around, surely he isn’t indicating to me, so who is he? But no one by me even notices him. I glance back, as he approaches the car parked right in front of the window, which is when I realise there is a Chinese girl sitting in it. She gets out and they exchange words. She is dressed in a grey top, long sleeved, with a baggy front, which hangs loose so that you can see that she is a more fitting white top underneath. She is wearing grey black jeans, and brown black cowboy boots. She slips the boots off, leaning against the back door, chucking them into the back seat, as she slips on smart flat soled shoes. Slipping off the lemon yellow socks which she wore with the boots isn’t wearing with the shoes. (This is the second time this weekend I’ve seen a girl changing shoes in the street, something which I’ve actually seen with some frequency – the night before girl was changing from flat soled flip flops, into higher heeled strappy shoes for going out.) Then it’s into the boot, pulling out jackets, a flask, a couple of bars of some kind of Kinder snack, and clutching cinema tickets. A polished metal flask, small sized one, maybe a couple of small cups worth, a curious thing to see someone carrying to the cinema on a summer night. They juggle these between them as they get ready, he watches her pull on a smart black jacket, then she takes the stuff back. He is wearing jeans, with a key chain hanging, and a blue t-shirt with some mass produced design on it, as he pulls the boot of the car down I’m conscious of his biceps, this guy works out. With the chocolate in her pocket, the flask in one hand, tickets in other hand, she exits the alley and heads round corner to cinema. He pulls on his crumpled green jacket, and follows.

Labels: cinema, flask, girl, glasgow, guy, muscle, shoes

Muscle boy. The coffee shop in Buchanan Street is where I most often see him loitering. He seems to spend hours there. Always wearing a sleeveless green t-shirt, showing off his rippling muscles, a hat and sunglasses - regardless of the weather. Usually he gives the impression that he is only there to talk to girl, always hitting on someone, regaling the latest attractive woman with his stories of how cool he is, between flexing those tattooed arms. The girls usually have glazed expressions, nodding in a way that says they are politely humouring him. Tonight he is standing outside with a shaggy haired guy with a beard, and they are talking to a pair of girls. The body language says that if he stops talking for a second they will leave so fast, their bodies already half turned in preparation. I carry on to the book shop and potter about before going for a coffee in there. And muscle boy appears, I’ve never seen him in this one, so I am surprised. But apparently has friends waiting here for him. After a while they pass me on the way out. Muscle boy clowning around, dancing to the music, but in a gorilla fashion, stomping his feet, slumping his shoulders and swinging his arms. His friends nudge each other and snigger, exchanging “what is he like” glances. He reaches the exit, pulls himself up straight and muscled, and spins on the spot, before stepping out like he was something from Zoolander. The girl coming giggles as she passes, shakes her head, funny idiot.

Labels: boy, flirt, glasgow, muscle, show off, tattoo