The Little Black Book of Imagines

Louis Tomlinson Imagine 25 pt. 2

Hello! :)

Show me what you're made of x Hoodie Allen

Say it ain't so x Weezer

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I'm sat on a park bench watching an elderly woman feed the pigeons. She reaches into her brown paper sack and pulls out a hand of feed, tossing it into the air so that it lands at her feet. A swarm of pigeons all fly towards her and swoop in for the meal.

I write what I see into a notebook, adding more detail in the number of pigeons and the scene before me. I stick the bottom of the pen into my mouth and absently think about what kind of story it would work for. Something scenic and descriptive. Something that ends tragically and here. Right here, with this crazy pigeon woman and this scene.

I look up just in time to hear her speaking to the birds. She's been doing that a lot. She asks the birds how Uncle Richard is doing and if they'd love a cup of tea.

She pretends to get a response and then stands up to leave. She wobbles away, her back hunched over. She stops to tighten the old and ragged shawl around her. She stuffs the feed bag into her large purse and makes a slow and quiet retreat.

I fold my journal close and head back to my apartment. It's only a five minute walk and I love it especially at this time when the trees are changing colors. Crisp greens turning into stale yellows and oranges and reds. The crisp London morning air seems more like a cool winter night. I tighten my own coat around my neck and walk faster.

I duck into a coffee shop for a cup of tea, sitting as close to the counter as possible. I want to be able to grab my cup and go.

"Tomlinson!" The small barista calls. Her hat is hung low over her eyes and she's wearing plastic gloves over her hands. She smiles brightly as she hands the cup over.

"Thank You." I put a few dollars into her tip jar and again I begin my walk back home.

It's eight thirty in the morning and the building is just waking. The kids all rushing for the bus or the walk to school.

As I'm holding the door open for a small girl a giant moving van followed by a small car pull up to the curb. I enter the building still watching the vehicles. Two very built men exit the moving van, yelling a book of moving lingo to each other. One with dark black hair and the other with brown hair and thick sideburns. Obviously they're professionals.

The brunette guy opens the back of the truck with the lift of the door. He presses a button and a small incline begins to descend from the truck. A ramp, to make it easier to wheel large pieces of furniture from the back.

From the small car a woman, around my age but younger, joins the men at the back of the truck. She pulls her chestnut hair into a ball on the top of her head, coughing into her hand afterwards. She pulls the sleeves of her jumper further down her arms, covering her wrists and hands. Her light jeans loose around the curves of her hips and her black boots tucked underneath the material.

She doesn't look as if she'll be helping unload but rather be the designated person to hold the doors, direct the men and call the lift. An assistant to the move. She must be my new neighbor.

**

The move is quiet, considering the thinness of the walls and the usual silence of the floor. The most I've heard is a direction from the small woman to the men about where to put the bed and the wardrobe.

After that, there was nothing.

I make sure that the moving truck is gone and she's back into her apartment to introduce myself.