I felt a light tingle in my temples. Was he erasing my memory? “Hey, wait a minute!” I yanked the glasses from the bridge of my nose.
“You’ve had trouble remembering,” he said.
“Well yes, but—”
“Then it’s a fair trade,” he said. “You’ve been most kind. Thank you.”
He stared back pleasantly. A bus arrived. Its door opened with a whoosh and a clunk.
“Third Street,” said the driver.
I shook my head. The door hissed closed and a cloud of diesel followed the bus away. I checked the time on my cell. If I didn’t get moving, the commute would be torture.
I don’t recall why I sat at the bus stop that day, but the moment is vivid in my memory.