Childhood, Gray, Smoke And Red

I wasn't lost. Just... Wandering. Or anything like that. For just five seconds I forgot where I was, then I blinked, and found myself at the subway.
The subway... Weird place. It gets empty when you don't expect for it and gets full when the last thing you want is a crowded place. For a while I stoped giving a damn about it. But not that day. On that day I wanted the subway to be full. Claustrophobic, I really wanted the subway to be crowded, so I could be on my own. But it wasn't. On that day, the subway was such a totally onucuppied vain. It was hollow. A void. And I didn't like it at all.
Eventually, the wind came. That fake wind that crawls from the bottom of your spine and grabs you by the neck. That fake wind that smells like concrete and reminds of childhood, gray, smoke and red. Gray city. Red circle — "Don't Smoke In Here". Then, eventullay, the wind left me, with nobody's company. I felt almost fine for that.
I counted. Fifth wagon. Good — I never liked even numbers anyway.
The door opened, but inexorably I decided not to enter the train.
There was a guy looking at me. And there was glass between us. Yeah, the window's glass stuck on the train's silver wall. The wagon was still, not moving. And the guy kept looking at me with his silver eyes. Big almost-silver eyes. Well, if I could see 'em, then I was looking at them. Looking back. Staring back. We kept staring at each other. Two weird people staring at each other, desiring a cigarette. Yeah, he looked like he wanted a cigarette. Just like me. Or Maybe I confused him with my reflection.
After that, I wasn't really able to see the time pass. I just noticed everything switched to slow motion.
I heard a bell. The guy, still looking at me — at my bushing eyes, got up from his seat —; I felt his hand grabbing my arm before I could see it, I felt the air on my face before I could notice he pulled me up, and the door almost got me before I could see I tripped. I didn't fall; the guy and his white hands, they got me. I felt something strange and rare.
— Are you fucnking tripping? — I asked; I screamed.
— Maybe — he calmly said. — I just wanted to see you some more.
That silver eyes guy freaked me out. He beautifully freaked me out.
— Thank you. I... It is rare to me. To be feeling this. I'm shaking. My heart beats again — I was talking nonsense. But I would find out it wasn't only nonsense. Someday, maybe. The guy dropped my arm. I sat. He sat. We kept staring at each other as I started to wonder — where was I going again? Right. Bank. Then, supermarket. I reminded myself, looking at those silver eyes, how I was dying for some booze.

R.