She seemed to think the bus was only going to take fifteen minutes at most to get her there.

She asked the driver if so, but he could not quite say.

She sat between the crowd of old timers and thought only of her youth, among other things.

Nursery rhymes of gay wheels going round, she knew everybody would never forget those tunes.

She quickly shook off any enlightenment as she remembered she needed to remain staunch. (Still, she smiled at the awkward muteness that bounced the communal seats)

He waited at the wrong bus stop, frequently watching his wristwatch as if 5 minutes turned every 5 seconds.

He was nervous.

She organised the meet, the hope of emancipation from her relationship with the forgetful mind that he could plead his way out of a death sentence.

He knew why she was coming.

This was to be the end of their relationship.

As to his escape of a death sentence, he started jittering aloud. A soliloquy of how he did try, eventually. Was that not enough?

From the wake of a bad dream his reality was a deafening alarm, screeching and scratching, the bells of end.

He was at the wrong bus stop. He once again did not listen to her and scribbled down the wrong details.

She was two minutes away from a bus stop that had no passengers waiting.

Struggling from the anguish, he left the wrong bus stop. He was not going to let this happen. Not today.

She arrived at the bus stop to find him not there. She sat on the seat and thought he might be running late. She told herself again to be strong and reinforced her emotional and mental focus and was ready.

She waited.

He was long gone, from the wrong bus stop.