A Chance Encounter

I saw her at the bus stop by the Chinese fish and chip shop.

    She was beautiful. She was tidy. She was clean. She had an actual style, an actual dress sense. She stood as if she knew it too. 

I’m not impressive. I’m slouch-shouldered. I dress from the floor. I like to have my hands in my pockets. I like to tilt my head and watch people. I would never get any sort of response from her. I said hello anyway.

“Hello,” I said.

“Hello,” she said back to me. She smiled and did not look at her shoes. I tried to smile back. It came out of one side of my face, but it was a smile.

“Are you waiting for a bus?” I asked. It was a stupid question but I couldn’t think of anything else.

“Yes,” she said. It was the answer I had expected.

“Which one?” I asked. The number nineteen pulled up.

“This one,” she said and got on. It was a pity. I was getting on the three-nine-five.