If

I saw you, that cold morning. And when I say cold, I mean bitterly, bitterly cold. You looked pretty agreeable to me, and I even liked the car that you were driving. And yet, when you pulled away from the crossing, I was describing you with some pretty fruity adjectives (to put it mildly), about you, your family, your ancestry and your anatomy. Maybe if it hadn't been so cold that day, I would have waited for you to pass, even though you are required to wait for pedestrians to walk on a zebra crossing. Maybe if it wasn't so slippery, I wouldn't have lost my temper so easily. Maybe you were running late for something. Maybe you're a nice person after all. Maybe if we had met in a pub, we might have even swapped life stories over a couple of drinks.

Maybe I will meet you later in life sometime. Highly unlikely that I'll recognize you though. Or you me.