Noses

I don’t think anybody is the same person. If you don’t believe me, just look around at people’s noses. Some are pointy, some are too pointy, some are big and round, but no two are ever the same. For example, the girl I’m sitting next to on the train has jeans and a white t-shirt on but she has this peculiar nose that is too big for her features.  If I found myself in a sea of people with jeans and white t-shirts on, I could point this woman out to you. 1

I was on the same train, Chicago to New York, a couple weeks later for my regular business trips and sure enough, I saw that same girl. Her dress was different but her nose was the same. I sat down next to her and said, “Hi. I think I have seen you on this train before.” And this is where my story begins.2

She answered with a polite, “Oh,” and then returned the favor with a hello. 3

“Whatcha doing in New York?” I asked.4

“Just business,” she said and looked away. I didn’t though, and she noticed so she added, “What about you?”5

“Same. Same. I make this commute regularly. I suppose it’s about time I start to go by plane but I’m just too darn scared of the things.”6

She smiled at my comment and then continued to look at her magazine. I glanced at her, but I timed it very carefully where I would glance for a couple seconds every four or five minutes. I could tell she didn’t like the attention so I was very cautious with my curiosity.7

Her arms were very frail, like even if I scooted an inch closer they would succumb to the extra weight. She had a nice stare, and a natural blonde hair color but I knew it was dyed because I could see her darker roots at the top. After some time, I was beginning to get bored.8

“What’s your work?” I asked.9

She looked around to see if I was talking to her and then realized I was and then realized I was ignoring the fact that she didn’t want to talk. She put her magazine down and answered, “I’m in the modeling industry.”10

“Ah, how interesting. I’ve never met a model before. I’ve met many who could be but never a professional. Tell me, how is the job?”11

“Eh, you can’t complain, you know?”12

“Sure you can. I make 300k a year but I still come home to my wife after these trips telling her it’s not worth it. Go ahead, complain. I suppose we probably wont see each other again so what’s the harm?” 13

She smiled. “You sure have a lot of questions.”14

I laughed. “We all do. I just have always been one to ask them.”15

And then it was like a balloon that just burst. She started to ramble, and boy, do I love ramblers. I am a man of words and rambling means you have something to say. She said that she started modeling too young and so, she became successful too young. She was careful and added that she was grateful but it just didn’t seem all that great. She never had a home. She was always bouncing back and forth from city to city, party to party, shoot to another long, tiring shoot. She said that it is part of her job description to be social, to smile, and talk when she doesn’t want to and she just feels the need to attend every party. So she just keeps on going and going and never stops. She thinks stopping is failure (she didn’t say that but I thought it needed to be added). She said that she doesn’t know how she has become such an addict to all of this because she doesn’t remember taking any drugs in the first place. 16

And that is where my story ends. But before it does, I just wanted to add that I thought that comment was funny because you see, success is a drug. If it weren’t, I would never be on this train going to a place far from home and meeting a girl who doesn’t have one.17

The End.18