Bus Bus Bus
I was sitting on a bus, on my way to see that dancing baby all the papers were talking about. We pulled up at a stop and a man got on. His trousers were too big, or his legs were too small. The bus must have been early, because the driver didn't pull away for three more minutes, and in those moments it all went wrong.

The sun had already set. As I glanced out of the window I saw a girl just standing there. She wasn't getting on the bus. I wondered to myself where she was going. I knew that the 81a came through this way, but she seemed like too nice a girl for that neck of the woods. I must have been staring for too long, because our eyes met, and she smiled. Instinctively I readjusted my focus to see my reflection in the window. She wasn't smiling because I had something on my face. She was smiling because we'd had a moment, like something from an advert.

As the doors of the bus closed, signalling it was time to go, she raised her hand to her mouth and then down again. She was blowing me a kiss! I did the only thing I could have done. I caught the kiss and put it in my shirt pocket. When she raised her hand to her mouth for a second time I saw something I hadn't noticed before; the cigarette. She was only smoking. It was the worst thing ever.
(sadbearhandbook, Tue 2 Dec 2008, 12:32, Reply)