They all had the same eyes! He thought to himself while riding distractedly to work. Many times it occurred to him that certain kinds of people had these recurring, common traits, but this was the first time he was able to put his finger on it. They all had the same eyes. He toyed with the thought, of how you could acquire these eyes, they were certainly not something you could buy in a shop, or have a procedure to get, yet they all had them. Young or old, racers, adventurers, men and women, they all had the same eyes. He stopped to look into his moped mirror, checking to see if he had them too. He didn’t. He was relieved, a little bit. These people that he was thinking about, he saw them in magazines and journals, on the internet. Writing and riding, talking about their adventures and about all those life and death situations where their existence was hanging in a precarious balance, suspended by a thread. They all had them, these stories. And when they told and retold them, these eyes of theirs would glimmer and shine, like those star shaped stickers he had on his room’s ceiling when he was little. Shining back light they’ve accumulated a long time ago.
At lunch break, he had a healthy salad, after all he needed to look after himself. There was some lettuce, canned tuna and slivers of parmesan cheese. He dressed it with olive oil and some salt, but not too much. He ate as he scrolled down the feed of his favourite social media. He flew by photos of things, and people doing things and some food and an adorable puppy, who was up for adoption. He stopped occasionally double tapping mindlessly on yet another hot girl, surrounded by people who choose their travel destinations by the match to the color of their hair. And then, there it was: the most beautiful landscape he had ever seen. There was a valley and a waterfall, and all was blanketed with golden yellow light of a low sitting sun. There was a road there, stretching across that valley, a thin, winding snake of black tar, cutting through the soft, green, lush, moss-covered hills. Double tap. He looked under the photo, the location tag read like something you’d say if you were trying to hold in a sneeze with soup in your mouth. He saved it for later.
That evening he googled the ticket prices. He looked at the tiny hotels and apartments, in a whirlwind of inspiration and excitement, in the mess between the 19 open tabs on his browser, somewhere in there, he clicked “confirm purchase”. His flight was booked, his first tiny hotel registered. He put the laptop back on the table, almost surprised at what he has done. He drank a big glass of water and got ready for bed. Before going to sleep that night, when he was brushing his teeth, it was only then that he saw it.
They all had those same eyes.