Fake House
“What Patricia Saw in Trenton Last month I was in Trenton waiting for the train to Philadelphia. There were maybe twenty people standing on the platform. A woman to my left, her back turned to me, was wearing a yellow sweat shirt, embroidered with the cartoon character Scooby Doo, over a print dress patterned with dancing chili peppers—a chili-spangled dress. She had on Dr. Martens boots. She was very tall, about five-ten, with dirty-blond hair. Something about her posture was oddly familiar: feet spread wide, groin tucked back, belly out, gravity centered. Her meaty hands were clasped behind her back over her non-buttocks. Did I know this woman?
When she turned sideways, I checked out her profile: small yet lumpy nose; pointy chin; round, protruding forehead—all in all, not a very attractive woman. And then it dawned on me: it was Valentino! a boy I once dated for five tumultuous months three years ago. Rather than risking an encounter, I went back inside the station. I don’t think he saw me.
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