Microfiction makes its return

He first met Ana Phora at the bus stop. He first met Ana Phora the day of the Santa Ana winds. He first met Ana Phora sweating in a long sleeve shirt on a clear and sunny day. The glaring sun, his lack of sunglasses, and the lack of any bus for a long time had him on edge. He was sick of himself, he was sick of his town, he was sick of the heat, and he was sick of the fact that his car was still in the shop. He turned after a moment to notice the woman sitting on the opposite end of the bench where he stood. Dressed in all black, and reading from a heavy book. The heat didn't seem to touch her, and she sat pages and hair unmoved by the severe winds. At precisely the same moment he realized that there was no traffic on the usually busy street, he noticed the very tip of her tongue retreat from the far corner of her lips ever so slowly back to its home. They both inhaled and exhaled with the weight of the city pressing on their ribs. She closed the book with care, and looked up at him almost as deliberately, She stood, perfect in posture, and head turned from the street to him. She opened her mouth, then froze for a second. A sigh broke her glass figurine stance. She looked slightly down, and shook her head almost unnoticeably. She reached into her handbag and pulled out a small and silver device. He spoke over the wind, "I don't normally ride the bus." He heard a click just as he stopped talking. Puzzled he asked, "What do you have there?" This time, hearing a click before and after his question. "Is that a stopwatch?" Again, the clicks. He laughed a stranger's puzzled laugh. "It is, isn't it?" one click right when he started, one click right when he finished. She looked down at the stopwatch then back at the street. "I don't believe we've ever met" flanked by the clicking. Click "I'm...well...who are you?" click. "Listen, please stop that" click click. The bus lumbered up. The air burst from the door's mechanisms as they creaked open. He stood at the door, still staring at her. He finally turned and decided to get on the uptown 57. After his foot hit the bottom step, she half yelled, "I'm Ana Phora." Of course he paused, but he had to get going. In the same tone and volume "seven and a quarter." He heard a click at the end. "we're nine together." Click "no, make that ten" click "no, eleven" click "twelve" He watched until she got to twenty two, and then climbed up the stairs to the bus. Put his money in the receptacle, and flopped into a seat. The doors closed, and the diesel chugged it's way out of the stack as he sped away on the uptown 57.