when it all goes wrong

Today I’m heading to Tate Modern to see a new stranger : 20, African descend, NY vibe - I expect this to be a very relaxing rendezvous.

*** few hours later***

Today’s date was a waste of time. It is a pity that such high percentage of strangers I meet is so far behind on the intelligence scale.

We met at the Tate Modern gift shop, (he was 50 minutes late…shame), and then we went to see the gallery, or better said, I forced him to take a walk among the displays. “WTF is this shit” is probably the most accurate summary of his input.
Strangely, I catch myself comparing multiple aspects of the evening to the ones with C., and as it progresses I started getting a little sentimental. 
To my disappointment, Dalí’s work, the one I genuinely wanted to see is not on display at the time, so I decided not to torture my companion any longer. We walked across the bridge, hopelessly trying to push through the mass of people. Soon I realized that the communication skills of this fella are simply non existent. Maybe it was caused by his incomprehensible accent, but it was only when we arrived at the Goodge street and took turn into sparingly lit street with poorly constructed cheap flats that I realized what I’ve gotten myself into. That sometime during our “conversation” I unknowingly agreed to crash his flat for a few hours.

Somebody. Help. 

high above the city

*continued from the previous post

I’m high above the city

I’m standing on the ledge

The view from here is pretty

And I step of the edge

Decision to spend the night at a stranger’s place might not be smart nor safe, and it’s definitely not professional… however, considering the situation I was in at that time*, there wasn't much potential to make things worse. 
C. didn't look like a murderer. And being raped by him probably wouldn't be too bad (if you know what I mean).**
Apparently he managed to earn my trust - my intuition was telling me to go for it. 

So I did. 

C. is not for carrot

I like to capture memories. My writing serves as a bridge. So I can secure my way back before they fade completely.

C. is an interesting stranger. I would never have imagined someone from Turkey being so sophisticated and well-spoken (how provincial of me). I would never have imagined talking to someone from Turkey in the first place. But that’s the beauty of coincidental encounters. 

I waited for him in St. Patrick’s church next to the Soho Square. Looking at the impressive display of church flyers, I almost forgot to turn my head at the sound of the false name that he knew me by.* 

sushi triangle

My most recent stranger is a 23 years old Turkish software engineer. Living in New York, visiting London for an unknown purpose - work or leisure related I assume. 
I don’t know his name. I’m most likely not going to see him ever again, so I consider it a useless piece of information. I regard Turkish names as difficult to memorize anyway. For the sake of this story let’s call him the New York stranger.

We met thanks to my other, less recent stranger (from now on referred to as C.). Turkish as well, any attempt to pronounce his name would very inappropriately end up resembling the muslim Holly War, so I don’t. 

All three of us met for lunch at a sushi restaurant near London’s Soho Square. I don’t remember much of the introduction routine, I was far too surprised by the unexpected presence of the new guy. Surprised and overwhelmed. For the first few moments. However, I wasn’t put off by the challenge of making an impression on a new stranger. I took it as an opportunity to practice my social skills and just hoped that this very unbalanced triangle that I got into (as the weaker edge unfortunately), would somehow turn out into an advantage. That I could simultaneously charm both of them without loosing my dignity and sway through this lunch session with such ease and grace that I often admire in sensible characters around me.