A train, a book, the smile

I could swear I heard him smile.
It could just be wishful thinking, I guess, but there's this voice. On and on saying he did.
He had a fabuolous grin spread out on his lips. Maybe laughing at my oddcomfortable position on the train, leaning my head on the window trying to get some sleep.

This is a little bit of the storm raging in her, the girl who looked so relaxed on the train, being rocked to sleep by the left-to-right motion.
She decided to open her eyes, after a few minutes, only to be blinded by the sun hitting the snow covering the grass outside.Daydreaming a dream looking ou the windor. Finally she reached into her brown post-man bag and pulled out the book of the moment.
While trying to read all she could hear was this ringing in her ear. No, not the smile, the train. Constant.
The mixture was pleasent, train, turning pages of a book, a smile.

* * *
Oh dear, how so very rude of me to let you stumble into the train incident, I'll try to make it up to you.
I know you'd like me to introduce myself, but for now that is very unimportant. Referre to me only as the third partythat has no business in sticking my nose into this story, although I am.
Then, you will obviusly want to meet the sleepy head is, a good old Irish red-headed freckled green eyed girl, mostly silent (not the "mostly"), with two main addictions, books and smiles.
The smiler, you ask me then. Another to be introduced later on, only to stretch your curiosity.
That's the who, next to the where: lots and lots of 'wheres' but what will mostly be seen is London, and lots of it at that.
The when, starts off at 1947.
But for the likes of you and me, it starts off now.


(Texto que começei há uns meses, encontrado entre as papeladas)