So no, Merry, I wouldn’t be saying hello to Headphones Guy any time soon, thank you very fucking much. I glared at the back of her head as she walked away until the bus came to a stop and the doors opened. I got on, tapped my Opal card on the swipe screen, and went toward the back. And, just like every day, I scanned the faces until I saw his, careful not to make eye contact.

I got lucky because I scored a seat across the aisle, two seats back, which meant I could stare at his side profile until he got off at the Cleveland Street turn. He had kind of pale skin, brownish-black hair and the scruff to match. Not a full beard, just enough though. He always wore jeans or pants, a shirt and a jacket, and usually boots. I wondered where he might work to dress like that. His clothes were all brands I couldn’t afford, so he had to work somewhere that paid half-decent money. He came from the city every day, yet he never wore a suit like every other guy who worked in the city. He had long fingers that would clutch the rail on the bus as he got off, and blue eyes and pink lips, and I wondered what his voice sounded like. I wondered a lot about him…

I wondered what music he listened to with those headphones. What his playlists looked like. Was it the latest charts, or was it jazz or blues? I could see him listening to some jazz-fusion, or an obscure band that no one had ever heard of, and maybe the sales clerk at the indie music store kept one-off vinyls behind the counter for him.

I wondered why he caught the bus. If he made such good money like his outfits suggested he did, why didn’t he drive? Did he even own a car? Not many people in Surry Hills did, I allowed, so maybe that wasn’t too strange. I certainly didn’t drive or own a car. I couldn’t afford one, but maybe he could? He’d only been catching the bus for six months now, and I wondered where he came from. What brought him here?

I wondered where he lived. Was it a one-bedroom studio? Did he share a flat? Did he live with someone? I wondered if he was single, spoken for, married. I wondered if he had tattoos, and I wondered what he smelt like. I bet he smelt so good…

And I wondered why I bothered with such daydreams when I knew, even on the slightest chance he might look my way again, that once I told him I didn’t like sex, he’d probably laugh and wish me good luck. He would’ve dodged a bullet and I would have taken one, right to the heart. Again.

It was pointless.