What you find when you're not looking

An old piece of prose:

'Gellert'

Friday. Seated unsteadily, momentarily disorientated by the fog of weissbier, I spy your eyes across a table of smiles. To soundtrack of Gypsy violin, and rat-a-tat exchanges of Magyar, my holiday funk is punctured by your Slavic lilt of 'Dziekuje'. There you are, a Polish princess stealing snapshot glances, evolving into an all-encompassing, oft' wondering gaze. 'Barely 25' I say to myself. Your trophy master shows you off - proud, and grateful. 'At least 45' I think to myself. He notices me; we both ignore him. I return to business in hand, unable to peel your eyes off my brown skin.

Saturday. Sauntering into Gellert Spa, I have an uneasy feeling of doubt and uncertainty blanket my senses. I look round - staring, as only dark eyes can, you stalk me across the marbled floor. Your eyes are roulette wheels. A question insinuates itself deep into my reasoning; are you worth the gamble?

October 2004, Budapest