The guy on the bus was handsomer than Robson Green, who played the Aspergery psych on the British crime show on tv. That’s what Janet thought. She started to wonder whether she meant that the guy on the bus was more handsome than Robson Green the actor, or whether the guy on the bus was more handsome than Dr Tony Hill, the character he played. Where do you separate the person from his shape, where do you separate the man from the name? She was fond of Tony Hill. He shambled about like Colombo. Not like Colombo actually. Not with a clever performance to get the crims to see him as no threat so they finally drop their guard. Tony Hill wasn’t bunging it on for effect. He was genuinely odd, but intense, smart and passionate. She used to watch that show, sitting on her second hand lounge, wishing that Tony Hill would get it on with the police detective he worked with to catch serial killers. The detective had long hair and attractive eyes and was way out of his league. But she saw it too, that smoulder that hints at Tony Hill’s potential, and somehow Janet wanted this rewarded. Acknowledged. If it couldn’t be her in a Purple Rose of Cairo type of moment the police detective was pretty good, and she’d cheer for that. She’d be happy to. She watched the guy who was handsomer than Tony Hill get off the bus three stops before her own.



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