A view from the tram

It is torture to be stuck on a tram on a smokey afternoon with a flat battery ipod without a book. Especially when the tram is almost not moving, stuck in a sea of cars. Alas, I knew I should have taken the train instead. Could have, Should have.

Times like this, one has no choice but to people watch closely, looking at fellow commuters sweating away on the tram (but being careful not to stare and make eye contact) and peering out of the window at the wonderful suburban sights of upper middle class Melbourne east - rows and rows of look alike houses that I could never afford cross-sectioned by main streets with posh little shops and eateries.

Until the tram came to a dead stop, right outside a construction ground of a major renovation project. And I locked eyes with a deadset cutie in his cement stained wifebeater with a military dogpendant swinging around his neck as he walked his wheelbarrow. He was quite a sight glistening in the sun with his well-muscled arms tolling through with his wheelbarrow.

I would normally look away and blush, sneaking a look now and then but there is something empowering about being behind the shield of a passing tram, albeit it was stopped in traffic that gave me the confidence to stare into his dark brown eyes. He had a baby face and looked about 20. His lips moved to crack a smile at me, revealing his dimples and his first signs of premature aging, the crows feet by his eyes.

The tram finally started to move again and for the first time I was happy that it only managed to move about 2 metres before halting and builder boy was still well in my view. I looked back at him and smiled too and there we were, tram girl smiling to builder boy, our gazes locked in a suburban traffic jam.

The tram continued to move ever so slowly and we continued to lock eyes until we were pried out of sight of each other by distance, with me mustering a slight wave to him to bid him good bye.