I guessed that she might be considered a little overweight, but I felt it lent her a classic style of beauty. She seemed to notice the expression on my face (which hadn’t changed despite my admiring her face and curvy figure), because a slight look of sympathy appeared in her bright brown eyes, and the smile briefly disappeared. She gave me a look that said: whatever you’re going through, I feel for you. After a moment, she seemed to remember that she was holding people up behind her and resumed the search for her seat. She stopped just before my row and looked at her ticket. ‘Looks like this is my seat,’ she said with a friendly smile, and looked at the seat next to me. I smiled at her and rose to my feet to let her in. She thanked me and brushed by me. When our bodies touched, it felt electric. Her breasts slid across my chest, and I briefly imagined the friction against her nipples, rolling them to the side in slow motion. She seemed to realize what had just happened, and looked. She reached out to the old woman and gently rubbed her back while murmuring, ‘I’m so sorry, so very sorry.’ The old woman glanced at the young one in shock and then she sort of collapsed into the arms of the younger one. ‘Do you have anyone here with you? Is there someone we can call for you?’ ‘My son. I have to call my son.’ ‘You’re here by yourself?’ The old woman nodded and sunk her face deeper into the chest of the young one. The man, who did have a sense of sympathy for this bereaving woman, wasn’t happy about this new posture. It prevented him from seeing her breasts. He loved breasts, the bigger the better, simply couldn’t get enough of them. ‘Was there no one upstairs who helped you?’ Ah, he had gleaned another fact about her and this time it was something they had in common, she too had experience in the realm of hospital-based death. They never let the bereaved leave without making sure they have some sort of escort. ‘They didn’t know. I haven’t told anyone yet.’ ‘What?’.
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