From the Notebook

How many people do you suppose meet on buses? I'm passing St Catherines. Behind me, two Israeli backpackers are making friends with someone called Georgia. They exchanged mobile numbers. I'd like to know what will come of it. Next to me a man with a British accent is talking on the phone. Arranging something with someone. Georgia's voice is high and ditzy. Pom guy is wearing a blue and white striped shirt. He's getting off now.
The Israeli guys were talking in Hebrew. Interestingly I could understand a few words. Kol hsa Olam, eh? Ambitious. The woman in front of me is getting off. Her green shirt offsets her red hair nicely. I still don't know what Georgia looks like. She is sitting behind me. There is only one other person on the bus.
Last stop.

From the Notebook

The bus is late. I've been here fifteen minutes. fter the first ten I started singing Jack Johnson songs. A classic fat bearded Greek with pizza boxes has been listening intently. After Flake and Taylor and a bit of Muse, I got bored enough to dredge up some ancient Russian music. Larissa Dolina. Never did look up all the words. I meant to.
I keep getting interrupted by coughing fits. I'm thinking what it would look like from the side. What does the greek think of a random girl singing to no0one in Russian at a lonely bus stop? The coughing and the lyrics I happened to remember must have sounded like I was dying of tuberculosis.
Boredom. I guess I could play mobile games. But they get so boring. I could sing some more, but now I'd feel self conscious, because the Greek came out and made conversation.
Where is the bus?