When I get on a train people notice. It’s not just that I was born handsome, it’s also the clothes. Even my briefcase is Italian leather. Someone once said, ’If you look the part, you get the part.’ I have a great job which I’m not qualified for. Is it fair? Nope.
Get over it.
Today the train was jammed. A filthy specimen sat next to me, greasy hair, pockmarked face, fat, decrepit and poorly dressed. Worse, he was smiling idiotically, holding a bouquet of wilting daisies.
The man wreaked failure. I turned away.
When he got off, though, I saw a woman there, frail but not bad. She smiled at him and they hugged and looked happy, really.
Later, in my empty flat, seeing myself in the hall mirror, it hit me… he has more going for him than I do.