Gavinda and I

by Christos Polydorou

Ok, so last night I left my job at one am and was on a red bus a little bit later and then Gavinda sat down next to me! I was like, where has Gavinda been this whole time? I had been looking for him. He sat there next to me listening to Drake on his IPhone while I listened to Django Django on my Samsung. After a while he sat in the seat in front of mine, and looked so deeply into my eyes, it made me blush, something I have not done since 2007. I had never met Gavinda before and yet I thought I knew him, and I was not surprised to hear he was from India, a place which comes up at such magical-realist moments for me, I do thank Shiva, as strange as it sounds, without so much as an ounce of sarcasm, for the uptempo psychedelic pace of time and shapes in these sub-continentally-sent moments. Gavinda and I became fast friends, and I was alarmed at how fearless and almost predatory he was, like an owl, while I was just a wood mice, which is what happens to the country of old men, when they grow old. I told him Drake was offered a cameo in the second season of The Handmaid’s Tale, and he said he loved the show, that it really messed him up, in a good way. Then it was his stop and he had to get off, so I said goodbye to Gavinda again, forever, because that was all there was to the story of Gavinda and I. A few stops along the night course of the 136 to Chiselhurst. Like a short story, brief, but complete.
Thank you Shiva.

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