Next Stop - Portage and Main

When I lived in Winnipeg I took public transit to work (okay it was the bus).
A big orange bus.

  Every morning there were the same semi-comatose  faces  staring blankly out the window.  We never spoke - perhaps the occasional nod.  There was an unspoken rule about personal space and the very obvious 'don't bother me' barriers.

Sometimes I read, or listened to music and stared out the window, but I never spoke except for "excuse me" when I needed to move someone so that I could get off at my stop.

Winnipeg has a wonderful music scene - perhaps because  so much time is spent indoors during the cold and windy winters or perhaps just because we are such a talented bunch of individuals who try so very hard.

In any case, many nights are spent in bars listening to the newest assemblage of talent wondering if  they were great because of all the beer we'd drank or if they really had a shot of becoming an international success.

One night in a bar I glimpsed a familiar face just as she saw mine - we rushed together, gave a big hug, "hi! how are you! good to see you!"  and then... realization

 Who the hell are you?

                         She was one of the bus riders that I never spoke to any morning - ever - the one with the extra-long big toenail that jutted out the end of her sandal and clicked the floor of the bus as she walked.


Awkward!