All the world's a stage.
“Prove it.”
“Pardon?” I said.
“You were just about to say “prove it”.”
“No, I wasn’t.” I lied. The old man smiled.
The acoustics within the carriage changed suddenly as we entered a tunnel. I heard someone behind me slam shut a window.
“Ask me something you know I can’t know. Not something you don’t want me to know, not a deep, dark secret. Just something I’d not reasonably be expected to guess.”
“Okay,” I looked at the ceiling as I thought of a number.
“Eighty seven.”
I laughed.
“That’s brilliant, I hadn’t even asked.” Shaking my head, I leant forward. “What is the name of…”
“Amy. Your brother’s wife to be is called Amy.”
“What did…”
“Your mother gave you your dead father’s signet ring. The one you’re wearing now. It’s still too big, you don’t want to have it resized though since that would mean losing some of the precious metal that once touched both your father’s and your own hand whenever you crossed the road with him as a small boy.”
I nearly burst into tears. My mother still scolded me for being too “tight” to have the ring resized. I’d never even told her why I didn’t want to. In fact, until that moment, I’m not sure that I’d consciously realised why I was so reluctant.
“A stage trick, hypnosis, some weird…”
“Yes, yes, “Derren Brown style shit”, I know. It‘s really not.” He interrupted. “Well, it is, I mean, sort of. He’s one of us.”
“A refugee?”
“No, no. Just a chancer from the early days of bun assisted temporal reversal. You can tell by looking, really.”
“One more question, if you get this one I‘ll be amazed.”
“Ahh, a moment.” He took a bun and a pair of spectacles from his bag and began picking at it.
“Fire away.”
“I have a tattoo. What does it say?”
“It says “United”.”
“HA!” I pointed a finger in the old man’s face as I exclaimed, “it says “Be Kind”.” I sat back in my seat, satisfied with myself for not being fooled by his clever trickery.
The acoustics within the carriage changed suddenly as we entered a tunnel. I heard someone behind me slam shut a window. I looked around, confused again.
“Déjà vu?” The old man smiled as he asked, brushing crumbs from his lap.
“Erm, yes.” I was beginning to feel nervous.
“Now, you were about to ask me one more question.”
“Okay,” I began, “I have a tattoo…”
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