She used to live next door to me. Used to shower with the bathroom window open, brush her teeth naked and fuck with the lights on and the blinds up.

But she doesn't remember me.

Not today, five years later, on the bus, on her way to work, sitting next to me, looking at printouts from her job.

How do you introduce yourself in a situation like this?

"Excuse me, you probably don't have a fucking clue who I am..." or "Hi I'm the guy who used to watch you every night..." or "Do you still put candles on the window sill with lacey curtains when the wind is blowing? Did you know that's a fire hazard?"

Unable to come up with a good opening line, I just sit and stare and remember what she looks like naked, on all fours, in a candlelit room, on the edge of a bed through lace curtains, her much taller boyfriend standing on the floor next to the bed in front of the window with his cock inside her, rocking back and forth.

It was a beautiful sight and it makes for a beautiful memory.

She shoots me a couple of sideways glances during the long ride, exasperated little "who the hell does this guy think he is" kind of looks. I figure she's figuring I'm trying to imagine her naked or trying to imagine what she looks like fucking. Maybe she's secretly pleased, more likely she's just annoyed.

The funny part, I think, as she gets off the bus and walks down the driveway to her job, as the bus pulls away and she disappears from sight, is that she's probably very confident, that she's probably reassuring herself as she walks, that I was just guessing, that I don't actually know, that the border between her life and my life, her mind and my mind, is perfectly, completely, secure.