text: Harold sat on the bus. It was a Tuesday, Harold always took the bus on Tuesdays. It wasn't that he had somewhere he needed to go. Harold just enjoyed riding the bus and today was a special day. He'd got on at Westmoor Station and bought his usual ticket. The bus was always empty for the most parts on Tuesday afternoons. No one was trying to get into the city, congestion on the other side always bulked up around four o'clock. Harold sat in his favourite spot, two rows from the back, left-aisle window seat. He used three baby-wipes on the seat and railing before sitting down. Harold could be very particular like that. Doctors called it an Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Harold just thought of it as a hygienic and consistent experience. Routines were just rituals like that morning cup of coffee before work, or Friday night sex with the spouse. Harold just happened to have a few more of them than most. However, today had been an unusual day for him. He'd spent most of it cleaning his home until it was nothing short of spotless, not that that was unusual. He just tended to do this on a Wednesday. Breaking routine made Harold very anxious, but he'd powered through the sensation of burning hot wires in his head and gotten the job done, just in time to catch the bus in fact. Harold had a special guest coming to visit and he wanted everything to be perfect. 14th Street came up and he held his breath. There was a 7:1 chance that she would be at the stop. Harold had been riding this bus for almost three years and he'd been keeping track. To be fair Harold kept track of everyone, it was just another way to add order to his little corner of the universe. Two people climbed aboard, neither were her. Harold slumped, disappointed as the bus began to pull away. "Hey, wait!" Someone banged on the bus, running alongside it. Harold looked out and saw her chasing them down. Luckily the driver hit traffic and stopped. "Thank you," she gasped breathlessly; climbing aboard. She walked down the bus towards Harold. He stared at her a little too long, as always. She wore a flower print dress, perfect for the summer weather with blue and red blooms all over. Pink sunglasses, held back long, brown curls. Harold identified the style as some sort of 1950s hipster chic. She looked beautiful. Tall with tight leg muscles, Harold knew she liked to swim. He'd heard her talking about it on the phone once. Her name was Lucy. Lucy took a seat one row in front of Harold, on the opposite side. She flashed him a cheeky grin as she sat. That's what Harold loved about Lucy, she was so carefree. so not him. "Hey I know you, right?" Harold blinked, startled. A deer in the headlights stood better chance of responding. "Yeah, you're that quirky guy, that cleans the seat before he sits. Right?" Harold blinked again. "Ugh-" he sputtered. Harold struggled to formulate a response. His brain would not process this derailment in his plans. "Harold," he gulped. "Hi," she leaned over grinning, chewing some gum. She held out her hand. "I'm Lucy." "I know, I- er mean nice to meet you." "Nice to meet you too, Harold." She leaned back against the window, stretching her legs across the aisle. She watched Harold with a demure look. The bus traveled on for several more minutes in silence, Harold unable to break Lucy's gaze with his own pitiful squirms. His mind played static on a loop the entire time, unable to formulate any kind of adequate sentence structure. This only made him more upset. He'd waited so long to talk with her. He'd even practised asking her to dinner in the mirror exactly four hundred and twenty-seven times. Nothing but static remained of those rehearsals. Lucy turned to look outside and reached for the stop button. "I- er. Eat." Harold pleaded incoherently. Lucy gave him a strange look, as she stood up. "See you around, Harold." She made her way to the front as the bus came to a stop, climbing out before some more passengers came on. Harold let his head fall into his hands, wanting to cry. Something made him look over at her seat. He noticed her pink sunglasses sitting there, which must have fallen off. The bus began to move and Harold rushed to grab them. "He-Hey wait. Stop." He started rushing forward then remembered his bag. He clamored back and grabbed it, rushing to the front again. "Stop-Stop the bus. Please, stop!" he shouted, falteringly. The bus came to a sudden halt, tipping Harold to the ground. He climbed back to his feet, haphazardly as the bus driver opened the doors with a scowl. Harold climbed down and ran back over to the pavement. "Hey, wait!" Harold shouted to Lucy as she reached a street corner. She stopped, turning to see him. "Oh hey, what's up?" He stopped in front of her, panting to catch his breath. "Y-Your glasses-sun, your sunglasses" he waved them in front of her. "What sunglasses?" She asked puzzled. Harold stood up sharply, looking at his hand. There were no sunglasses. "Get away from me, pervert." Lucy shouted, aggressively. She shoved him backwards. "No, wait." He stumbled, landing in the street. Cuts on his hands and gazed elbows began to sting as he sat up, confused. There was no girl on the sidewalk. There was no one to be seen in sight. HONK. HONK. Harold looked up in time to see the truck that would end his life. He closed his eyes and smiled.