I once met a girl on a bus. She was a stripper headed to a work opportunity in San Antonio by way of Los Angeles. I was a broke guy on a Greyhound bus going to visit his folks. We talked a bit. Nothing I can remember. Later in the evening, as we sat quietly, she tried to talk more, but I had nothing to say. She tried this several times.
She eventually sighed—exasperated—and said, “I’m just trying connect with you.”
There was nothing more to say except, “You shouldn’t.”
I had the audacity to say goodbye at Union Station.