Panama Suede

So we saw Half Nelson yesterday. I left the theater with heightened senses and a sweet ache. People walking by seemed fully formed and fascinating, a contrast to my earlier fog and stereotyping. I wish I could induce this feeling by myself.

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In front of the first seat on the metro, I see an olive green suede suitcase. It is almost soft sided, but in the shape of a hard suitcase. Cream stitching outlines the edges to remind you of its suitcaseness. It slumps slightly against the wall of the train. The case is with a pair of scuffed boat shoes, navy socks and kaki trousers. A panama jack hat, complete with a bright green rim sits on the empty seat. Next to the hat is a man with rumpled hair and flushed cheeks. He looks tall. Ooops, I got busted staring at him. I shift and examine the pole, and then an ad for a new crime novel by George Steca-something.

There is a sticker on the suitcase that may be a clue. I can’t read it from here. It is square with black writing on a reddish background. In front of the suitcase, I see an ad for the National Geographic exhibit, One World, One Tribe. I pretend to be interested even though we just saw this exhibit five hours ago. I move closer to read the ‘ad’. He puts his hat on, and it’s covering his eyes. I am shielded; I brazenly look down and see ‘BRITISH CONSULATE’ and some symbol. The hat tips up, could he be looking at me through the weave? I scoot back to my pole and watch him get off at Dupont Circle. Draped over his arms is a brown suede jacket. The suitcase sags around the edges as it hangs from his hands. He is tall.