The redhead got up and moved away from the hatted boy. He wept. Three stops later, she alighted from the bus. Before the doors closed, she threw at him a crumpled paper, aiming at his head. It was her phone number, but the last two digits were XX. ‘The vixen!’ (Continued from yesterday.)

The hatted boy was on a bus. A fancy redhead sat next to him. On the sleeve of her black trenchcoat he noticed a fiery hair. He picked it up between his thumb and forefinger and laid it on his handkerchief, which he folded. ‘I’ll take it home,’ he said. (Based on recent personal experiences.)