dark parking lot

I don't think i noticed his car, or him, the other day the bus passed the parking lot. After i saw him standing beside the car smoking, i wondered how many times i could have seen him before. It was the car i noticed first. i don't know a thing about cars, but i knew this one rather intimately. It was classy, foreign, black and shiny. It shined like the driver's life depended on it. It also seemed reasonable that Satan could have been that driver. With a car that sharp, he could have made house calls.



But the driver was not Satan, he was a white man in his forties, balding at the back of his crown, and wore a office man's uniform. The plume of smoke that came from his cigarrette was the second thing i noticed. I remembered its smell instantly. As if we were together again, hot and sweaty, him correcting my technique, me mumbling my apologies.



i saw his face for the briefest of moments and looked away in embarrassment. What did i have to be embarrassed about? When i looked back, he got in his shiny car. The bus got further away. i turned in my seat to look behind me. His car was gone. As always, i was left frustrated.