because you don’t have the guts to turn around and look. You know she’s sitting with her back against the warm steel wall of the bus, and her feet drawn up on the seat beside her. She’s not a big fan of daylight. She should never be seen in color. By day, she’s a grainy black and white image: a discarded blow-up doll of a back-up singer from a heavy-metal music video. At night she’s a fourth-generation photocopy of a Margaret Bourke-White photo luridly animated to Euro-pop dance music. She’ll never live long enough to become sepia-toned.
Like in a dream, you’re sure her name is Audrey, but you don’t know why. Maybe because it sounds like “tawdry,” name. You know that August is her favorite time of year–in August. She likes spring in spring, winter in winter. She can deal with anything.
You hope she gets off the bus while it’s still downtown. You can’t turn around, but you want another chance to look at her. It would break your heart if she rode with you out into the stability of the suburbs.