Bus Report #831
In the morning, Mister Fantastic but no pretty man.
Mister Fantastic rocked purple jeans and unlaced boots, and a blue and white checkered shirt. Neon wristlet tucked into back pocket. New black rucksack hanging off his shoulder.
Later, in the evening, pretty man but no Mister Fantastic.
Pretty man sat in a window seat, looking like a punk ballet dancer with a watch cap decorated in safety-pinned patches, tight tight black pants and his flowy black shirt, his delicate fingers laced comfortably on top of his leather pouch.
One of these days these two will overlap. I just hope I'm there to see it.