Chance At A Bus Stop

I met a stranger by the by the bus stop at the rode side. He stood out by his silence, as if he had nowhere to hide, and nodded once to me, one stranger to another.

"Hello," I offered, to fill a silence I had not know until I saw how quiet she was, and how so simply still. "Morning," he said; we moved closer together.

"Are you a woman or man?" I blurted, not meaning to ask. "Does it matter?" He said smiling, but I felt put to task and fumbled with words for an answer.

"I am not my plumbing," she said. "Would you define yourself so narrowly?" "Hey," I said," I'm not defining anyone." "You move with words like a dancer."

"Huh?" "I wonder," he said, "Why it is so. You say nothing, and so you move, and are never still. Why do something?" "Are you some kind of nut?" I said.

She laughed. "Oh yes. I've just removed some shells, you see." I didn't, and she shook his head. "Tell me how you can be walking around like this, half dead!

And pretend it is normal and refuse to open your senses wide?" "I don't understand that," I said and something in her smile died. We did not get on the bus together.