pilgrim's lack of progress

As long as you proceed with a true heart, the universe is on your side.
Once you play her false, the universe will no longer be your advocate.
Well, so I've been told.
Evening with Big Hair in the Cafe Insomnia near Trinity College.
Watching the Trinners types tripping along the pavement outside.
I'm thinking to myself how much I'd like it if a few of them really would trip.
Resentful of the glamorous effervescence of youth, moi?
Big Hair is watching me intently.
I begin to quiz her about Valerie, one of her friends she'd introduced me to yesterday.
You know the sort of questions.

What's she like?
No, what's she really like?
Did she say anything about me after I left?
Are you sure she didn't mention me?
Did she look sad for a moment after I was gone?
Are you absolutely positively certain she didn't mention me?
Did she say any words that rhymed with my name?

Ah yes gentle travellers of the internet.
The desperation stakes.
Big Hair fielded my questions with professional aplomb. But there was something in her manner. She was hedging. I could feel it.
When I could take no more, I confronted her with my suspicions.
"For crying out loud," I burst out, "what in tarnation are you hiding?"
"Okay," sez she, "there's something you should know about Valerie."
She paused.
My little mind reeled with wondrous possibilities.
Was Valerie an Islamist assassin working for Osama Bin Goatherd?
What if she's a jewel thief wanted on three continents?
Or how about if she's just an insatiable sex maniac whose greatest fantasy is balding pot bellied poets with three mobile phone speed bumps on their right cheek.
"Okay," sez Big Hair again. "Here it is. "Valerie is a little bit eccentric. Be careful. There. I've told you."
And she looked tremendously guilty as if she'd just betrayed a sacred trust with this complete nonentity of a revelation.
Oh the humanity.
Irony too.
Apparently Big Hair was actually trying to protect me from her mad bad dangerous to know friend who shock horror Ma Kettle, is a little bit eccentric.
As the initial disappointment passed, I began to laugh.
In fact, soon I was laughing so hard I couldn't stop.
"What's so funny?" enquired Big Hair with an edgy note in her voice.
I regained control of my equilibrium with some difficulty.
"You're funny," I explained. "You calling anyone eccentric. I mean, what could be eccentric by your standards? The illustrated Oxford English Dictionary has a picture of you beside the word eccentric."
The Unquiet American was less amused by this remark than you might expect, and our evening ended soon after that.
I sat alone in the Cafe Insomnia watching Nassau Street fill up with the dusk.
It had been a busy day for me.
A day of slap downs really.
Slapped down in the morning by Valentina Sexanova, a Russian acquaintance who didn't appreciate my gentle diplomatic lobbying on behalf of the South Caucasian Republic of Georgia.
Slapped down by Lu Yi via email over similar representations regarding Tibet.
Finally on the receiving end of a vintage Big Hair walk out.
You gotta wonder.
What am I trying to prove?
I glanced out the window.
The pavement was like a catwalk.
The city full of this year's girls.
About to start College.
And trying on their femininity for size.
In truth, I hope none of them trip up.
I stood.
Bold readers, if you had seen me in the doorway of the cafe this evening, you might have noticed the curiously whimsical expression playing about my rugged features.
At that moment you might have thought me a strangely gallant figure.
At odds with the world and in perpetual defiance of it.
I walked into the night.
Each man must be a legend to himself.