Girl at the Bus Stop

I remember the dead leaves the most. Hundreds of thousands of them, strewn all over the street. Puddles of leaves, small hillocks of the little bastards. All forgotten and blown away. They made the footpath somewhat more difficult to navigate along I will concede, but the faces of them were brilliant. A hundred shades of brown. Who'd have thought a colour like that could be so eloquent?
So, Leeds it was, and towards the city centre that I rambled. Earphones in ears and thoughts being thought. If it hadn't of been for the smile I would have missed her completely. I only turned just in time to see it. Black hair too. Indescribable black hair. She was waiting at the bus stop alone and I was walking past it alone. I returned it of course, the smile, with a feeble attempt of my own, but wether she took in its full meaning I will be eternally uncertain of. Five paces now separated us, then ten. By the fifteenth I turned my eyes back in the direction of the bus stop, only for them to be greeted by a large movie poster behind a perspex sheet. A pair of shoes and a pair of ankles were just visible below the poster, in the space between the bottom edge of the bus shelter wall and the uneven ground. Apart from the familiar black hair I remember only one other thing. She was nice. I knew she was nice, i just knew it.
"Go back," said my stomach.
"You can't now," my brain said back. S.H.