Stories We Brush Past
I was walking to work this morning and I saw two people, a man and a woman, standing on a corner. They were both fairly curvy, dark hair. The woman had curly hair pulled back in a ponytail, revealing a tattoo on her neck. the man had a dark, short beard. Both were dressed entirely in black. The man was holding a paper, not sure what it said, obviously.
They were deep in a conversation, which I couldn't hear, because headphones. Just before I walked past the woman reached out, and hugged the man. He stood stiff for a second, then leaned in and wrapped his arms around her as well, dropping the note he was holding.
I kept walking.
I'm not part of their story, except as scenery. They're not part of my story, except as a question mark.