The Number 8 coming home was crowded; so I had to sit in the rear. Two young ladies with all sorts of tattoos were giggling and having a grand old time. I had my book, but every so often, they would smile at the old guy (me).
They were actually nice and asked me about my James Patterson book. They were also talking to me, because a bit of a creep on their other side was leering at them. That stopped when they talked to me.
They recognized this other guy, from school. He didn’t get off at his stop, but stood in the back door, so he could get their phone number. Then he yelled out for the driver to let them off.
They were so chatty, they missed their stop. It was entertaining, if nothing else.