#75

"I look at her, and then look down at my shoes, and I think she's doing the same. Then she hands me a note. It's folded over once, and it's all yellow, like that posh stuff, vellum or something. I take it and look back up at her. She's so pretty.... Then, slowly like, I unfold the note... and I can't remember a word of it now.

"I think I must be in love with her. In my head I go over the bit where I look up at her, then down at my shoes—they're brown; is that a clue? How long ago did men last wear brown leather shoes? What year is this?—and every time that my head tilts back up to look at her my stomach flips. Like that bit when a plane, you know, an aeroplane, when it lurched just before landing. Over and over. Over and out. I adore her. Mad about her.

"Girlfriend? Maybe, yes. How old am I? I can't tell. In my mind, I'm twenty and then suddenly seventy-five. But I'm still looking at her. I'm still in love."