Man at the bus station

I return from the ether of the internet and the massive pile of coursework to bring news from the terrifying place that is known as Real Life. Like most people I know, I prefer to bury my head in the vast world of the internet and try to ignore that, around me, Things Are Happening.
Occasionally, though, I can't pretend any longer and, for a day, I emerge from the slumberous mass and spend a day with living, breathing people, hemming me in on all sides. And, once I remember how much I hate people, I flee back to my internet.

Over the past couple of days, I have made a Special Effort to be a Civilised Human Being(TM) and ventured forth into the realm of the living.

Yesterday, 6th March 2010, I hopped on a bus and travelled to Bakewell, home of the very yummy cake, with two of my very good friends, Mr D and Fawson. I'm trying to remember some amusing story or anecdote about my trip, but I am coming up with nothing - the sole amusing thing of the day came courtesy of a random man in Derby. Mr D, Fawson and I were sitting around, waiting for the bus to arrive, and, sitting yon side of the path (on top of a small wall) was a middle aged man. There was nobody sitting next to him (in fact, everyone was sitting as far away from the poor bugger as they could) and yet he didn't stop talking. Not to anyone - just talking.
And talking.
And talking.
He didn't stop - he barely even seemed to pause to draw in a breath. The bus arrived and there was a scramble to form a queue, every single person hoping that they wouldn't end up near Mr Talkative. We needn't have worried, though - he ignored the presence of the bus and the departure of his audience, he just sat there, in his own little world, talking to himself.

On the one hand, I kinda felt sorry for him. On the other, envious. How great must it be to exist in your own reality, where nothing and nobody exists apart from when you want them to? While I wouldn't say I would love to live like that, you have to admire him for it. Even if he's a bit nutty, you have to admire his courage.

Sir, I don't know who you are and the likelihood of you actually reading this is slim to none, but I salute you all the same.