Apparitions
Posted on 2008-Mar-27 at 08:05
I was on my way to the railway station this morning when, for no apparent reason, the song “Ghost of a Texas Ladies Man’ by Concrete Blonde came into my head. I haven’t heard that song for ages yet I couldn’t get rid of it and trudged along to the twangy beat, smiling at the story and marvelling at how sometimes the strangest things spring to mind:
You don’t scare me, you don’t scare me
I cried
To my ectoplasmic lover from the
Other side…
It shouldn’t have warranted further comment - however, arriving at the crossing to Victoria Street Station (and pushing the button as I have done a thousand times before), I turned to see, staring unequivocally in my eyes, a young, cowboy-booted, smelling of something rather masculine and yummy, a belted and chequered young man.
He looked straight at me in a kind of all-knowing way (the arrogant little shit) and suddenly I felt a wierd type of frission. Just as Johnette describes. It entered my mind to question if indeed Mr Funky Boots was a conjured product of the song in my head or, more likely, of my happenstance early morning imagination.
His young boots clacked upon the concrete with a weird authority. He walked right along side me, directly and almost embarrassingly close to my left as we traversed the road (his scent a-wafting up my nostrils), in a slow yet contentious competition to see who might perhaps be first to swipe their TransPerth railway card for the continuing journey.
The train was late. So late that three trains in the opposing direction passed us incongruously by. I was in shock myself as this had never happened before (Transperth are usually most reliable). At last, when it was obvious that there was some kind of delay, he turned to me in his black and white and neatly pressed plaid shirt and asked me if I knew anything about it.
I said no.
With less than a moment’s hesitation, he humphed and turned on his stacked and buckled heel and walked away. There was no apparent emotion other than the impatience of one who lives in the city.
He knew I understand
He was the Ghost of a Texas Ladies Man...
You don’t scare me, you don’t scare me
I cried
To my ectoplasmic lover from the
Other side…
It shouldn’t have warranted further comment - however, arriving at the crossing to Victoria Street Station (and pushing the button as I have done a thousand times before), I turned to see, staring unequivocally in my eyes, a young, cowboy-booted, smelling of something rather masculine and yummy, a belted and chequered young man.
He looked straight at me in a kind of all-knowing way (the arrogant little shit) and suddenly I felt a wierd type of frission. Just as Johnette describes. It entered my mind to question if indeed Mr Funky Boots was a conjured product of the song in my head or, more likely, of my happenstance early morning imagination.
His young boots clacked upon the concrete with a weird authority. He walked right along side me, directly and almost embarrassingly close to my left as we traversed the road (his scent a-wafting up my nostrils), in a slow yet contentious competition to see who might perhaps be first to swipe their TransPerth railway card for the continuing journey.
The train was late. So late that three trains in the opposing direction passed us incongruously by. I was in shock myself as this had never happened before (Transperth are usually most reliable). At last, when it was obvious that there was some kind of delay, he turned to me in his black and white and neatly pressed plaid shirt and asked me if I knew anything about it.
I said no.
With less than a moment’s hesitation, he humphed and turned on his stacked and buckled heel and walked away. There was no apparent emotion other than the impatience of one who lives in the city.
He knew I understand
He was the Ghost of a Texas Ladies Man...
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