He held a pose that was reserved for only those that were in the midst of deep and probing thought. It seemed apt then that he was ruminating over his own personal philosophies. His hand held up his chin and his elbow lent on the windowsill as he pensively gazed out the window. It was a relatively short trip, but few things seem so disproportionately long and drawn out in comparison to the actual time they take. Even the shortest bus trip will seem to take an eternity. He thought it was Einstein or some equally clever type that said something like “sit next to a pretty girl for a minute, it’ll feel like a second. Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute and it’ll feel like an hour.” He was feeling less than inspired about life. For god’s sake he was on a bus. Only a few things depressed him as much as travelling by bus. What’s more, he questioned the bus driver’s bus driving capabilities - as he had a right to. The bus driver’s bus driving skills were questionable. He thought this thought as the bus swerved to avoid hitting…something, he couldn’t see anything worth swerving for. He wondered why he was going back. There really shouldn’t be any reason to go back to the city. He couldn’t believe he was going and wasn’t impressed with himself. Nonetheless, he was on his way, on the bus, driving dangerously back into town.
“I want to stroke his hair” Ali mused. She considered reaching out and massaging the head of the fellow sitting in the seat in front of her. His scruffy brown black hair protruded from the top of his seat and into her view. It shone in the afternoon sunlight. It had taken on an angelic quality in that time of day. “Am I so impossibly lonely and desperate that I’ve reached a point wherein I want to touch strangers?” She thought. “Yes,” she finally admitted to herself, accidentally out-loud. Her eyebrows furrowed in surprise and alarm. More alarm than surprise. Had her newly acquired love interest heard her insane mutterings?
Yes, he had and Ed’s eyebrows furrowed in a similar fashion to Ali’s. Immediately he set to work imagining the being that was the owner of the disembodied voice he had just heard. Of course, the voice wasn’t entirely disembodied. He had already assumed that it came from the girl sitting behind him. In his head she had short, cropped blonde hair and large but unobtrusive breasts. He didn’t dare turn around and peer at what might be an attractive blonde or worse, an unattractive brunette. He figured that if he let his thoughts submit to his desires then through some sort of mind control he would have the girl behind him become his dream girl as opposed to what could be some sort of hideous toad creature. Quite possible a brunette toad creature. He continued to muse on her particulars. She girl wore short skirts on Sundays. She felt it was always seemed to be warmer on Sundays. Perhaps god was smiling on her on a Sunday. And it would be sacrilege to think that god’s smile was anything but warming. Her name was July, but her birthday was in April, which meant she was probably conceived sometime in August. He appreciated the lack of symmetry or sense in that. It seemed to mean that her parents would be bohemian peace lovers. In his head, she didn’t like The Beatles because she knew that that put everyone off a little bit, especially her bohemian peace loving parents.
