A stranger on the bus sits, reading the paper.

I’ve learned over the four years I’ve live in Maryland that everyone chats up everyone. Even the surliest faces open up to conversation, if but to break the palpable silence sometimes experienced in public transportation. I’ve also learned that usually I don’t have to initiate anything, though in this particular encounter it was my turn to start things.

As the title says, I think his name was Ryan. I don’t remember it for sure, but I remember the details like it was yesterday. Born and raised in MD and now living in Berkeley, he was at American University for that weekend for some folk music deal thingie. Trite details that hold no real weight in the scheme of things, really.

His return trip home, however, gained a greater sense of urgency once he found out that the cell phone of one his lady friends was found at a park, and that no one has heard from her in two days. She may have just lost it and there’s no other way for people to contact her. She may have been in trouble.

I would never know, really. But I hope she is okay.