Tonight, saw Ian McDonald used as a pick-up.
Night. The bus. Enter the quiet, bookish boy with the soft skin, neat hair and trimmed beard. Brown. Head down, he stalks the bus aisle, coming to a stop at the very last standing position at the very back of the bus. Near me.
I’m sitting so that his book is in line with my hair line, I guess, but it’s thick enough I can’t see the cover. What I do is catch a glimpse of the name Ian McDonald on the top of a page. I crane my neck entirely, I realise later, unselfconsciously, trying to see *which* Ian McDonald he has. It’s a pretty thick book, & I’ve got a hunch —
Want to know how it ends? Here’s the rest.