As the twelfth depot was left behind, the older of the two men muttered, ‘Idiot, Idiot!’ under his breath. ‘What?’ The younger man glanced up from his Times. The old man nodded bleakly. ‘Did you see that damn fool rush off just now, stumbling after that woman who smelled of Chanel?’ ‘Oh, her?’ The young man looked as if he could not decide whether to laugh or be depressed. ‘I followed her off the train once myself.’ The old man snorted and closed his eyes. ‘I too, five years ago.’ The young man stared at his companion as if he had found a friend in a most unlikely spot. ‘Did—did the same thing happen once you reached the end of the platform?’ ‘Perhaps. Go on.’ ‘Well, I was twenty feet behind her and closing up fast when her husband drove into the station with a carload of kids! Bang! The car door slammed. I saw her Cheshire-cat smile as she drove away. I waited half an hour, chilled to the bone, for another train.
What do You think about Ray Bradbury Stories, Volume 1?
