Hate and indignation

Last Saturday Danny had to work. I called him just before he finished and asked if he wanted to meet somewhere. So we had dinner at Zelda's, then headed home for a quiet evening.

Riding the last few blocks on the bus, Danny had his hand on my knee and I had my arm behind his neck. We were oblivious, peaceful, comfortable together.

At the last stop before ours, somebody unboarded from the back of the bus and ran up to the window beside us. I didn't see this part, but he tried to scrawl something with his finger in the rain on the glass. Failing that, he hauled off and pounded the window as hard as he could, right beside Danny's head.

We exchanged some quiet words. I can't remember what. Danny pulled the bell for our stop and I stood up, slightly dazed.

What I remember most is the pretty, slender, dark-skinned woman standing by the wheel well behind us.

"Ignorant asshole!" she exclaimed, then turned and told the people beside her what had happened, and who was the target.

Yes, I remember her better than the blurred shadow in the rain.