2-2

An unexpected encounter with 'moustachioed arch-nemesis' this morning. The upper hand was mine. The bus stopped mere metres from where I was standing whilst he stood forlornly at the official stopping place believing the yellow behemoth occupying would rumble off allowing him to waltz unchallenged to his favourite aisle seat. Alas, he was mistaken. I lowered my head for some private smirking, a second at most. I looked up, and the moustachioed devil swooped in like the proverbial hawk. Not only was he now positioned in front of me, but the guy in front of me too.

Inconcievable.

And so, just like that, arch-nemesis is back on level terms. 2-2. Bitter, I make no attempt to muffle my hayfever-induced sneezing in a spiteful attempt to wake him (because as per usual he is asleep within seconds)but there is no rousing him from his self-satisfied slumber. He sleeps the blissful sleep of the victor. The scoundrel. I shall have my vengeance.