He stepped on over, so much as bargained for a smoke
She smirked, adamant on complete and utter distance
He took the chance, fingered her hand
She stepped on back, rule of her mother’s thumb, one ungodly smack
And a whole bus shelter explodes
Lonely old man togged into action
Ready to finally feel a little more than a fraction of himself
Old lady Benedict, usually oh so cumbersome – dull and glum, steps on up to the rain-soaked plate
Three pointing fingers, one embarrassed and lingering Czechoslovakian man
An age-old story, never pose a question when met by six such eyes in a darkened bus shelter, mid peltering down
Rest-assure, you’ll be nothing but sounded out