Mrs Bugno tells stories

When Mrs. Bugno arrived and declared that I wasn’t allowed to ride my bike anymore, all my story making went away. Bike riding, especially in the dark, is a prime time for making stories. I got pretty upset about the whole thing. My brain kinda flat-lined its way through the fear and pain and exhaustion.When my life began its revised, optimistic routine – public transport and walking – eventually I found the stories began to trickle back into my mind. I was very excited – and relieved – when it first happened. Phew!! It was the panic of creative block – I’ve had it with artwork before but never with stories.Now when my tram from work gets into the city I get off some stops early, just to walk in the cold dark evenings to Flinders Street Station. I roll a cig and get a coffee at Degraves and walk about the place just for fun, watching the world go about, doin’ its stuff. Moments happen, dreams and ideas begin, my stories start to write themselves.Here’s one of those moments…It is a Friday night and I am p.t’ing home; Melbourne, winter, cold. I get off the 109 tram a couple of stops early, just to walk and enjoy where I live and be amongst people.There is a woman walking slowly up the hill toward me; she hobbles along on the half-crutches that semi-circle her forearms, her hands bearing the weight of her upper body. She stands out like a beacon amongst the office workers who all wear black – myself included – as she wears jeans, a blue jumper, a red and brown scarf and comfortable shoes.She is slow amongst the bustling commuters; everyone is in a great rush to be wherever it is they are going whereas by the injury she has probably suffered, I figure she would just be happy to be walking.I look at her and she looks up at me, slightly stooped by her crutches.I look away.I look at her again and she is still looking at me.She smiles.I smile.And my chest cavity is instantly inflamed, red and pink the flush rises up to my face and I feel the warmth of a stranger’s love passed across a dark cold night by the simple act of a little, quiet smile.