Network

Clementi, 9:00 AM on a Friday.

She, all of 20, wore a low necked pink top and searched furiously on her phone while having one leg strategically over the other that left nothing to imagination. 

He was all of 25, wore a blue jean and was searching too, on his Iphone. Was he looking for a job ? I wouldn’t know.

Redhill.

‘Holy shit’, he said, ‘Starhub sucks’. 

‘Bloody hell’, she said, ‘M1 sucks’.

Obvious. The train had entered a tunnel.

Outram Park.

He got down, dialled a number and waited while she, in the train, answered her phone.

‘Hi, got an SMS just now. Couldn’t meet you in train’.

‘Oh ok, Thanks. I too got your SMS just now’.

‘Where are you now?’

‘In the train. Leaving Outram Park’.

‘OMG. I got down just now. What were you wearing?’

‘Pink tops’.

‘Oh Jeesus, I was sitting in front of you’

‘The blue jean boy? Holy shit, I saw you!’

‘Hello, Hello…’

‘Hi, able to hear me ? hellooo’ this network sucks,’ she exclaimed.

Or the lack of it, I thought.