Tag Archives: wrong bus

Catching the wrong bus

17 Feb

I met her at the bus stop,
our eyes met over cigarettes.
Something transmitted
and we spoke a while.
Instant obvious attraction.
.
She was Romanian,
living in Manchester,
flying home to see family.
Beautiful.
.
She looked intently.
“You are nice man, will you watch my bag?”
and she went to find the toilets.
.
Then I took the English gent further;
decoding the timetable wording for her,
standing close to shield her
as she lit another fag.
.
Our hands touching.
.
“Are you going on my bus?”
she said, hopeful. Soft smile.
An hour in the wrong direction?
“No. Sorry, I’m going home.”

She asked again 2 minutes later.
An hour. To an airport. For a girl who lived in Manchester.
“No. I can’t.”
.
Her bus came,
she waved sadly and went.
.
Riding home I realised that this was the wrong bus.
.
.
.

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