i blame the first class train compartment

there was just one person missing. i thought about him all through the train ride, as i cut through sunday landscape and seemingly chased fluffy clouds strewn into a steel blue sky.

even if i would have tried, i couldn't have banished his image from my mind. dashingly, he would sit opposite me, hand resting purposefully on his cut wooden cane. it could very well have been a duck's head, gently caressed by its preposterous owner.

his black mustache would be so articulately cut into art deco mode, it'd be another focal point throughout the journey.

we would converse in french. he would politely bend himself over backwards, to make up for his unexpected lack of expertise on the language front. he'd be acting galant, cautious of any possible mishaps.

then, of course, he would move onto to the most pressing topic of the day. who'd-done-it. he'd start whispering, slipping into terribly portent mode.

can you feel him present too?  ma foi, mon ami. too right!☻