It’s late on a Thursday night, and I should have known better. Too late. A generous amount of Ravenswood Chardonnay has completed its magic, and my head is doing that bob-bobbing thing it likes to do, as the bus trundles along on its merry way home.
I allow one foot to precariously follow the other as I weave my half-snapped way to an empty seat. There’s an attractive woman there, and she’s thoughtfully moved closer to the window, all the better to help me avoid having to climb over her to the only vacant spot left.
I plunk myself down in relief and prepare to slumber my way toward the final few miles to my home bus stop.
Only…. My nose twitches. And twitches again. Something is seriously amiss.
I look over at the woman next to me, who at this point is now obstinately staring face-forward. Desperate. Afraid. Anxious.
No. It can’t be.
But it is.
A more heinous ambience can’t be imagined.
This veritable tulip, this rose of the fairer sex has emitted a soulful and delicate silent backfire, no doubt hoping against hope for the gain of anonymity.
Yet it was not to be. For I, the seeker of lost passions and artifacts of renown, have found her out. She is but a ghost to most, but is to me she is as the stop sign to eternity’s perfume.
Still, gallant man that I am, I labour to keep her dread secret, if only to preserve my status as gentleman and appreciator of all that is good and right in the world. My nose has other ideas. My nose is offended.
I open my drunken mouth, and hesitate.