Late for my Bus

I was standing outside the Anthropology Building, hoping to see her, and there she was. She came out with a guy.

”Hi Jeremy,” she said, “Nice to see you, what are you up to? This is my boyfriend, Troy.”

We exchanged pleasantries, but I was devastated. I thought she was single, misunderstood, waiting for the right person. Her hair was red and so long, I had never seen hair so long in real life. I imagined her long hair covering her naked body. She was a little too skinny, I had to admit, and her breasts were too small, but she could get them done. Or I could learn to love her small breasts, with enough self-conditioning. I could masturbate to videos of small-breasted women and that would make me change my preferences. In fact, I was determined to do it, but that was before I saw her with a boyfriend.

And who was he anyway? Probably a sucker, an idiotic jock, an ignorant fool. But who am I kidding? I could tell just by looking at him that he was my sort, intellectual and sensitive. Perhaps a little better looking.

”What time is it?” I asked them.

They told me, and I took off, running as fast as I ever could. Faster than that. I yelled back at them “I’m late for my bus!”

Several minutes later (it took me a while to disappear from view) I collapsed under a tree, trying to catch my breath. My lungs hurt like hell. I was sure I was getting pneumonia, or degenerative lung disease, or worse. I was sure of it.

Posted by: Paweł Kowaluk