Models vs. Hope

We're on the road somehwere in Malaysia, KL. We're in a rented Nissan Sunny with my friend Lauren is telling us about this really hot black model she'd just casted for an estee lauder ad.

So this Guy is african (quite rare in Singapore) , great physique, toned, and hot really hot/tough (apparently), he even has a shot of himself in his resume butt naked humping a wall or somehting.

she then goes on to raise a few very pressing questions:
Where do these beautiful people come from?
what do they do all day between shoots?
Why don't you ever see/bump into them?
Don't they take Public transport?

All of which I really didn't give too much thought to: I mean who cares? right?

I think I tell her something along the lines of how I don't think it's true at all and as a matter of fact, I know it isn't, because sometimes I will choose to ride in paticular carraiges just because there's a hot girl/ there are hot girls in them. Maybe that makes me a horrible evil person; but it helped my arguement at the time.

So I'm on the train tonight, in my least favorite spot in the carraige: pressed up against the glass pannel right next to the doorway, reading my book when this lady walks straight into my profile, collecting my novel with her luxurious handbag. She doesn't looking back or apologise.

Now this happens quite frequently in this particular spot so I don't think too much about it, until I smell her; It's this really weird perfume that smells like japanese soft drink, so I'm inspired to look up and notice that she's really not pretty. No, in fact she's ugly, the of the kind of person I often have nightmares about the girls of my dreams turning into. So, remebring the conversation I had about pretty people on transport, I stake out the train for a while, and realise very quickly that there really arn't any hot poeple here.

I know, it's 8pm on the MRT proabably not the ideal situation to find modely looking people. Besides the only modely person I know gets picked up from work every night.

So I go back to my book and when I look up I'm one station overshot, so I get out of the carraige and as the train takes off, I notice the carraige next to mine was full of pretty people. Needless to say I was upset and felt gibbed, but also good about being retrospectively-correct - all at the same time.

It was weird.