The Love Story of Dexter Harris

The station is packed, the trains cramped and yet a solitary woman stands out from the crowd. Boy, is she a beautiful woman. In the mass inner city commue, in amongst all the painfully average movers and shakers, the eye is drawn to her. She's tall, but not by more than a head over the average. Her long dark hair flows like a silky... gosh, silky flowing ocean and her legs are long enough that God had no room to make extra leg. Not even an inch, they were endless. Good work, big man. This woman could end wars with a pout and it's natural that she should be the leading character in a novel, or film.

Unfortunately I have no idea who this woman is. Our story is about the man behind her, can you see him? The one with the limp. I'm not suprised you didn't see him, even without the vision of beauty stealing the limelight, he would fall into the shadows. His name itself is common and unexotic - Harris. Dexter, however, is not. And thus we have his name, Dexter Harris. He's a nice fellow, really, just a little plain on the eye.

Just ahead of him, the woman trips. She collapses like a ragdoll, throwing her purse across the platform. Nobody cares, they all walk right on by, ignoring her and focussing on getting home as soon as they can. Dexter jogs up to her and helps her up, ever the gentleman. So engaged by her beauty is he, that the poor woman's cry of "Stop! Thief!" is rather a shock to him. Luckily, our fox Dexter spots the man running off with the woman's purse, and makes haste to catch him. His mind isn't in it though, it's on the woman who he so desperately wants to impress. Still, he speeds through the crowd, weaving in and out, eyes on the prize, although whether in his mind the purse is a purse or a window to her heart... only he knows. The figurative window to her heart suddenly turns into the station building, Dexter is some way behind. A  pang of sadness, pure selfish sadness, hits as he realises he's going to lose the man and will have nothing to give to the woman. Sure enough, he runs inside and the thief is nowhere to be seen. Probably already on the streets of London.

He kicks the wall. A little brick crumbles off. Evidently the godly woman attempted to give chase herself, and soon enough she and Dexter are stood face to face. He is exhausted furtther than ever, ever before, and has perhaps a little to much trust in his voice.

"He - he got..."

Not only did it crack, but the need to give a wheezy cough erupts in his throat. The poor woman merely endures it.

"He was a quick man"

She looks across at the swinging doors into the bustling city of London, knowing her purse is out there somewhere.

"I'm sorry" He pants. "Miss..."


"I'm sorry, Beth. Dexter."

"It's fine, Dexter. Unusual name"

Suddenly, a little glow of possibilities spreads across Dexter's face.

"So, do you make trips here often?"

As soon as he started that utterence, he knew he shouldn't have finished it. It wasn't even met with a smile.

The End

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