overheard

I’m on the uptown bus.  Across from me is a middle-aged man.  A homely looking man.  He has one of those groomed beards that add to his unattractiveness.  He is wearing a Sherlock Holmes type hat.  The only thing he’s missing is the pipe.

His phone rings and he answers it as if he’s in his study, alone.  His conversation is easy to hear, as he makes no attempt at privacy.

“So, did you complete the intake papers on Avery Cruz?” he says.  (I changed the name).  “He came in yesterday.  He’s into a lot of nasty things.” 

The Sherlock wanna be must be a psychiatrist.  A bad one.

I come to my stop and walk up to him. “Excuse me,” I say.  He ignores me.  I say it again.  He looks up.  “I know Avery Cruz.  And you shouldn’t be speaking about his case on a bus.”  The doors open and I walk out.