Talk Show Host - Radiohead

I sat on the ledge looking at the sea as I had done for the past few days. I put on my headphones. I looked at him. I tried to look discretely but lost in observation, I may have sometimes stared.

He wore a flat cap, beige fishing pants and a checked shirt. His moustache was graying; he smoked as he looked on at the water. He hung his fishing rod on a tripod stand and waited. At times, a few locals would come and sit with him and they chatted. Their mannerisms suggested that they were talking about matter of fact things, daily events. Events that continuously shape society and that members of society talk about, because they need to be talked about. They wouldn’t hang around for too long, and eventually he would be left back to his thoughts. His facial expression suggested that this was what he had come here for. Or it might have been my perception of him because of what I was looking for. Anyway, he seemed to enjoy his cigarette and solitude with the sea. Every now and again, he would grab the fishing rod, turn the reel and pull the line towards him. Most times, he would get an empty line, but sometimes he would carefully remove a dead fish trapped on the line and place it in the bucket where he sat. And after straightening out the fishing line once again, he would fling it hard towards the sea, place the rod on the tripod and sit and smoke. He sat crossed legged most of the time, his arms resting on his knees, and cigarette between index and middle finger.

I looked at the sea. I could see the reflection in the sky of the setting sun.

I sang out along with the song in the player… softly not to be heard but loud enough to let myself go.

“I’ll be waiting
With a gun and a pack of sandwiches
And nothing
Nothing
Nothing
Nothing”

Tears rolled down my cheeks.
I smiled.