Two strangers, a man and a woman, share a bench on the corner of Addison and Halsted. Their parcels lean against their thighs. Hers: bubble wrap squashed into a plastic Jewel sack. His: a filthy blue gym bag with an obscure corporate logo. She gazes eastward, searching for signs of the Addison bus. He squints westward, seeking not transportation, but something else. Both are hot, tired, and sick of waiting.
She: I know. I’ve been here since five.
She: Blind date?
He: Damn! She’s not even looking for me. She’ll be looking for my buddy. I mean how’s she gonna…she’d recognize her bag, right?
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He: That’s what he told me. Wouldn’t you recognize your bag? Especially if you came looking for it?
She: So why can’t you leave?
He: (Defensively.) I didn’t say that. You look like you could be in the middle of moving. With the bubble wrap.
