Nothing More or Less

MWF (Mobile Wife Fighter) is on a roll this morning with socializing. His first encounter occurs at the dimly lit stop. A short woman with short hair and glasses glances over at his approach from further north. MWF's progress is interrupted by LMBM (Last-Minute Bald Man). He comes down from the hill, and waits close to the woman. Next he espies MWF to move quickly over to intercept. His rather hasty exit from our proximity erupts curiosity from both myself and the short-haired woman. I can almost hear the thoughts themselves leaking through the cranial cavity:
Do I smell?
Is it something I did?
Did he forget something?
Are they lovers?

"Well there's always the seven-forty bus," MWF tells LMBM.

LMBM disappears into the gloom without anyone realizing it. The bus arrives at that moment. His departure from the scene is obscured by the onslaught of the bus. Its roaring diesel and bright headlights clamor the air into sensations of utter distraction. As I sit here, I wonder what has happened to him. For instance, why does it seem so abruptly that MWF is chatting up the family court judge about ballet and the associated facial make-up for performances?

Perhaps I am still asleep. It could all be a dream. Nevertheless these insignificant mysteries shall remain what they are: nothing more or less.