The way he was sitting, the downward tilt of his head, the arm resting lazily on his knee, and the glass tilted in his hand. The lady in black, in the background leaning towards the man beside her; the bottles at the bar glistening softly, framed by the reddish-brown wood of the shelves. The low lighting, a touch of red contrasting subtly with his jacket.
I thought of Picasso, and how I wished he were there. And in a flash, in an instant, in a moment that is too short to describe, he looked up. And the picture was gone.
Selfistan - a land, well webpage, where all you see and read is stuff that I want you to see and read. Inspired by my constant ramblings and thought processes and by Salman Rushdie's quote on Selfistan in "Shalimar the Clown", Ramblings From Selfistan looks at the deeper and the not-so-deep aspects of life as I see it. Welcome to my world...
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My doppelgänger refuses to look up.
I don't know if the moment would have been as special if he hadn't looked up. It's because he looked up, that I remember it as vividly as I do - that, and his piercing eyes...
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