sad

i have never really done the date thing. mostly because the times i plucked up enough courage to ask a lady out the answer was no. so i haven't much experience of it.

there i was out in hoxton square the other evening to see a rather lame exhibition at the white cube gallery - it was supposed to be something that commented on our celebrity driven brand aware logo awash love of the stars, in reality it was just a bunch of very large very average paintings of people who are famous.
i saw the bloke on my way into the gallery.
young, stocky build, neatly but but conservatively dressed. shoes clean and polished, no doubt fresh undies in cash of accident,  a traditional raincoat, a brown leather satchel over his shoulder. his light brown hair had a touch of boris to it. he had that fresh faced glow of someone who has recently had a long and careful shave. he was the perfect picture of a chap who had past muster of his mum on the way out for a special night. in his gloved hands he carried a small, but perfect, bunch of roses.
he was marching along the pavement outside the gallery, stopping to look down the street trying to spot the object of his affection.

he was still there when i cam out ten or so minutes later.
this time he looked a little more flushed. the colour in his face had turned from ruddy to bright red.
more so than before he looked like a bloke out on his first date, he looked nervous, uncomfortable and out of place. he had the look of someone who had been on the end of a few too many rejections just because he wasn't the right type.
his pacing up and down the street was a little more manic. the stop at the corner a little more wistful and lingering longer. the red roses, still held proudly aloft, more and more a beacon of why he was there.
up and down he walked.
waiting. hoping. waiting. waiting.

there was a part of me that wanted to wait with him. i wanted to see him succeed. i wanted to see the meeting between him and his date. i wanted it to be alright. i wanted to know if they had met at school or at the office. was this a blind date? i felt he needed moral support, someone there in his corner ready to give advice if he needed it. i felt he needed someone there to see him through to the finish. someone there to witness his success. someone there to shield him from all the mocking stares of the oh so trendy shoreditch crowd as they went about beginning their night revelries.
there was also a part of me that didn't want to be there when he realised that he had been stood up, that he would have to go home dejected. i didn't want to see him lose.

i left him still pacing. still hopeful. i headed off to brick lane to leave him to his silent vigil, to his silent prayer. i hope it was answered, or the other person had the decency to call him to tell him they weren't coming.