Friday, 12/16/2011, Inbound 19 Woodstock
Indulging the Hell out of driving lately with the excuse of cold weather and thereby making each and every bus trip have a tinge of drag to it, losing a bit of the ole mass transit ruggedness. Even letting it bleed into the connector walks between transfers. Skipping them altogether if able to hawk an overlapping transfer like the 19’s brush with the 71 Northern. Saving the lousy five minute wind walk to meet The Wife at The Lutz. Luxury.
Was part of seven people’s lives for about 130 seconds of riding.
Here is my impression of the couples conflict and reconciliation.
Dude loaded up on swagger was bragadoccioing from the back seats’ upper platform while his lady (or the woman somehow tolerating him out of habit and/or extreme generosity of spirit and understanding) looked straight ahead, unblinking, unmoving, unratifying.
“I’m gonna show, Holmes what I’m about. Gonna lay him LOW.”
She says nothing. He turns to her for some sort of confirmation. Or maybe the negation that will spur him to up his ante. But nothing.
“What?! You think dude would have a CHANCE with me? What? You SWEET on him, TOO?!”
She still didn’t move but did blink. Once. A very slow blink. Not over the top or sarcastic just slow enough to say ‘I heard you say something complexly stupid and unanswerable and am so accustomed to it that it requires little self-mastery to give you nothing more in return than one of these blinks.’
“Sheeit, I’m sorry, baby, but Torey’s been winding me UP.”
She half-turned her head and resumed a normal blinking pattern so he could see her doing so.
“You’re right. I’m a moron.”
This isn’t what she was saying at all. She was being very affectionate by just blinking normally. Staring at her like this he caught on.
“Yeah, I’m sorry. Just riled up is all.”
She put his hand on his leg and he sat back in his seat.