There’s a night bus couple sitting behind you. A man and a woman, at least judging by their voices, both archetypes of man tone and woman tone.

You can’t help but hear their conversation. They’re not keeping their voices down. What they’re saying doesn’t interest you until the man’s voice says, ‘Why are you always like this?’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ the disembodied woman’s voice says, ‘I was having a nice time up until a second ago.’ The voice says ‘second ago’ with an emphasis that drags the words down. Tugged from the table by a spoilt brat, ‘second ago’ is spilled onto the floor of the bus.

Perhaps they’ve had too much to drink.

The man’s voice dips, perhaps trying to pick up some pieces. It’s difficult to make out what he says.

The woman’s voice returns, more to the left, as though leaning on the window. ‘It was just a suggestion.’

There’s something about their tones that’d suggested they’re not steeped in familiarity.

‘I hate it when you say things like that,’ her voice says.

Not a first date then.

‘You’re doing it again,’ the man’s voice, heading a a different direction to its companion. ‘I don’t need this.’ A plastic rustle.

‘Where are you going?’ the woman’s voice says, more splashy than before.

You look out and down, you see the top of a bald head pushing through a mess of people trying to board a bus. The head is nestled in a shiny padded jacket.

‘Fuck. Fuck,’ the woman’s voice says behind you. The bus bell ding ding ding dings. A rush of coat flapping. Heels. You almost miss her; the bus begins moving just as a hat exits. Maybe it wasn’t the woman’s voice under that hat. She might not’ve got down the stairs in time. You should’ve been quicker to turn, although that would’ve been rude. You pop your collar and look sideways at the other top deckers. No one else is craning to look out of the window to see if the couple are fighting on the street.

The bus swaggers forwards. A man sits next to you. You press play on your ipod. You think about moving seats. You imagine yourself as the woman’s voice. You imagine yourself as the man’s voice. You imagine them catching a taxi. You imagine them breaking up.