From my space at the edge I scan the car park and watch the other drivers, and their companions if they are in couples or are in groups of family or friends. The lone travellers are few and far between and almost all men in their big, bold and efficient company cars. Just days, possibly even less, merely hours ago, I must have been like these suited and serious men and yet I feel no kinship, no connection. But still I sit and I watch them as they come and go.
I don’t know how long I have been sitting here, watching and waiting, or why. But there it is, parked almost directly opposite. The car is older than my own, much older, a little box, a tin can, but it has wheels and an engine and it looks reliable, sturdy enough.
I supposed I just needed to see it, to know that it was possible. A few hours ago I would have approached the driver and tried, attempted to broker a deal, to make the exchange. But everything is changing so quickly. I am changing and I suspect that a few hours from now I won’t even need this.
I watch him climb from his car and, stretching, he pulls on his jacket. His face is square and he is solid. From here he seems amenable and if I was going to approach anyone it could, it would, be him. But how to begin, what would I say to make him understand and of course I couldn’t. But I suspect that he would at least listen and if I were to convince him to make the exchange and muster up some cash I don’t believe he would try to con me. To make what is for him already a good deal even more lucrative. No, he looks honest and trustworthy and if I was going to approach anyone it would be him.