All participants are over 18. This is a fantasy that was inspired by a real encounter.
*****
The old man got on the bus at exactly eleven p.m.
Neal remembered so exactly because he checked the time on his phone to confirm the bus was still on schedule. Sure enough it was.
He still had a seven hour ride in front of him to reach his destination. It was faster by car, of course. This was one of those circuitous routes that seemed to stop at every village and small town between his point of origin and his final destination. But his wife needed the car at home, so the bus was his only option to get to the conference in the big city.
The old man was the only passenger embarking here. He by-passed all of the front seats and walked slow and steady past the ten or so people scattered through the bus. He made a bee-line for the back of the bus and sat down in the back seat. Right beside Neal.
Really? Neal thought. Out of this whole bus full of empty seats, you have to sit right beside me?
The old man said nothing and did not make eye contact with Neal; he only sat staring straight ahead as Neal looked at him in disbelief. He was not particularly well-groomed. His thin, silver hair was scattered across his brow as arranged by chance, not a comb. He was a few days unshaven. He had a large unsightly mole on his right cheek. His pants and jacket were wrinkled and untidy. Neal's irritation at the man quickly melted into pity.
Poor fellow. Looks like he's had a hard life.
Then the fellow's odour wafted over him. Rank sweat. Neal could have done without that, but what was to be done?
I guess he has to sit somewhere.
Neal shrugged. At least he had the window. He hoped he wouldn't have to use the bus's rest room, a stall behind the seat he now shared. He didn't want to disturb the old gentleman.
Maybe he should try to get some sleep. He wanted to be well-rested for the conference tomorrow afternoon. Neal curled up in his corner against the window.
The bus started up again, right on schedule, and the driver flipped off the overhead lights to make it easier for passengers to drift off.
The gentle sway of the bus rocked Neal off to sleep within minutes. The humming of the running engine was a white noise back-ground.
Neal was conscious that some time had passed when he opened his eyes. It was still dark. He looked at his phone and groaned; he had only slept an hour. He noticed that the old man's right hand had fallen on his leg. It made Neal uncomfortable and he looked over at the man.
It was hard to make out the man's features in the dark and Neal couldn't hear his breathing over the bus noise. He must have been asleep.
Neal didn't want to wake the man. The poor guy looked like he needed every break he could get.
