The bespectacled woman, looks intently at the glass teat in front of her, changes her expressions every now and then while I stand there like a student, waiting impatiently to be reprimanded.
Yes, I had a passport before this one. No, it wasn't lost.
She swallows my words by making some changes on what only she can see.
I stand and wonder if she will impound my passport, or, more dramatic, ask the guard to catch me lest I run! I can feel every cell in my body pulsate and my vessels throb with an anxiety which she has planted just by asking that question.
After tinkering with her machine for some more time, she looks at me again, this time, giving me a hard look. Then back to her machine. I wish I could turn the glass teat around and see what is she so concerned with.
Are you sure, it wasn't lost.
Yes, i am.
I doubt my own answer, hoping she wouldn't.
The wait continues. I stare at her hair. It's wavy and dripped in oil.
Take your passport. It's done.
I want to thank her by bowing down like a performer who didn't expect the audience to love his act. But I stutter a broken thank you!
No comments:
Post a Comment