by Jason Lee Norman
This kind of thing always happens to me: a lovely woman or young girl sits across from me on the tube and is wearing a short skirt, sometimes leggings, sometimes not leggings, and immediately crosses her legs like she was told to do by her mother or possibly a younger, more sexually adventurous aunt, and then her legs make that little black triangle, and what lies beyond it I can only imagine. It’s like an ice cream cone of darkness. It’s as dense as a black hole and doesn’t let any light escape its massively powerful force of gravity. It must be as cold in there as that atom smasher in Switzerland, or as warm as a sun spot - I’ll never know. My gaze fixes on it and I think about what happiness is. I am never more unhappy than when I'm looking at that triangle.
Jason Lee Norman is a Canadian living in London. He is the editor of a magazine called wufniks.