A woman on the bus this morning was shouting into her mobile that she was "a free agent." That her divorce was now, finally, "legit." This followed a cheerful conversation with her mother, from whom she extracted a full description of her soon-to-be-consumed evening meal, item by side-saladed item.
Except for the volume, I thought, fair enough. She's unshackled. Loved. Evidently, she's happy.
And yet I was pleased when my stop came. The sun had just broken free from the clouds after days of diffusion and greyness.
3 comments:
I remember that glorious moment of freedom. I wasn't on a bus but the meal that night was delicious.
I won't ask what you had. It seems that every possibility I can imagine is affected by dangerous levels of innuendo: blanched this or broiled that, seared this or skewered that - you get the idea.
ObBloke comment: Oooer...
Post a Comment