I sat by Matt. He touched me, no longer a person of indifference, on leaving. I took the opportunity to ask him if he was my man for Ryan’s do this evening, echoing his not being my man for anything to do with electricals. “Who’s Ryan?” “Ryan’s the Waitrose boy who asked me to his eighteenth birthday, his twenty-first and now his farewell do.” Matt excused himself, “I’m recovering from insanity.” I went on to say I mightn’t be in the library Monday and Tuesday mornings just in case he should worry at not seeing me.
Shortly I realised I could have finished and gone with, so finished and went after. I couldn’t see him, therefore crossed the road at the traffic lights, when I did see him, on the other side of the road behind its barrier that ended at the next traffic lights. I recrossed the road, aiming for that opening where he was turning and stopping. I wasn’t sure he’d seen me. “What d’y’mean, ‘recovering from insanity’?” “Jesus Christ!” – near enough but a tad inapt coming from a would-be Buddhist – and he did look insane as he reared, his eyes like those of an alarmed horse. I couldn’t stop laughing. He was crossing the road to the bank He could’ve crossed earlier had he thought of it.
How much more effective is unconscious contrivance than that of consciousness.