Talking about things

You had a beautiful voice

It was late. You sat down half a carriage from us. It felt like we were the only three people on the train at that hour.

You started to talk. Low at first, a soft sea of sound, rising and falling like waves on the beach.

You got louder. You had a beautiful voice. Smooth, rich, mellifluous. Chocolate and honey were words made just to describe the sound. Magic. If you were in our book you would be line eight, rich and warm and pleasing to the ear, mixed in with a little sonorous line nine.

We sat, enthralled. We wanted to tell you how beautiful you sounded.

Your words got louder. A one-man monologue, just for us.

Louder. And louder, until we started to hear the words.

The filth that was coming out of your mouth was mind numbing. A constant string of invectives and threats.

You got louder. By the time we got off the train you were shouting.

You scared us. We made sure to exit via the furthest door.

You had a beautiful voice.

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