I was on the bus home with someone's hip near my face, gripping the pole to keep from rocking into the person beside me. It was warm and sweaty from use, and I could almost feel the salty taste of it on my palm. Someone was talking on their phone and I could hear them say they would be home soon, pulling their lips over their teeth. Some teens near the back were laughing at something on their phones and one of them said "that's proper". It was warm but I didn't have the arm room to take my coat off, crumpling like a ball into my seat.

There was a man across from me. He had a thin beard and a beanie on that wasn't pulled down all the way, the top pinched over his head like a condom tip. He was rocking back and forward in his seat, rolling his head back with his breathing. I made eye contact with him and regret it immediately.

"Hey". I looked at him. "Did you catch last night's Coronation Street?"

I relaxed my upper teeth onto my lower lip. "No, I don't watch TV". The words reached him slowly as he leaned in. His lips were so big, pulling back with his smile. He spread his knees and gestured with his hands.

He says last nights episode was wild. He doesn't know what to make of it. I try and let my eyes wander.

"There's this new character," he starts. The bus shudders and someone near me stumbles, my hand reflexively holding their hip as it pushes into my shoulder. They raise their hand in apology. "His name is Peter File."

"What?" I look back at him.

"His name is Peter File. He hangs out playing cribbage". I can't conceal my discomfort, I feel it painting over my face as the side of my mouth hung open, eyebrows raised. I keep looking at him.

"Maybe it's just a coincidence?" and he gets real excited in his seat, rocking back and forward again, slapping his palms on his leg like a drum. "That's what I thought man, that's what I thought. Through the whole episode no one talks about what his name sounds like. There's nothing even related in the plot. It's... completely divorced from any narrative I could read into it, but then, then," He leans in again. "They show us his fucking wife. Right near the end of the episode- last scene before the credits- this old lady walks out into her kitchen to say hello to someone visiting, right? She puts out her hand and says her name is Child Pornography".

Several people turn to look at him. A nearby woman grimaces before pulling the stop cord and standing up. "I'm- I'm sorry?" His eyes are nearly bugging out of his skull, baring his teeth. He says louder "Her name was Child Pornography" and someone audibly scoffs, apologizing into their phone. I don't know what to say. I say "Coronation Street. That's uh,... wow".

I raise the corner of my lip and he tells me he doesn't understand. "Why would they name a character that? What's the point? What could they possible be trying to say by- why are they making their audience think about that". He holds the top of his head, the tip of his cap crumples under his mitt and flicks back up as he slides his hand down to the back of his neck, looking at the floor. He's so loud.

"I... I don't know" and looking out the window up the street. My stop is still three down. I look down at my phone. He's still talking my god. I don't stop checking my phone but he's looking at me expectantly. There's an especially pregnant pause in his ranting and everything is quiet. The rattling of the bus as each green light lurches it forward. Finally I say "so uh, what channel do you catch that on?" and a woman looks at me with wide eyes, someone out of sight slaps their thigh and audibly sighs. He smiles, rocking back and forth still. "I record it, it's really good CTV, CBC, TVO, maybe Netflix, channel 3 and 14" I nod and bite my lip.

He's smiling still as I get up for my stop, putting out his open hand to me. "I'll see you around, eh?"

He's rocking back and forth and mumbling "Child Pornography, Child Pornography..." under his breath. I take the crisp outside air in a deep breath, jumping off the last step and making distance. The sky is gray and cloudy and pregnant with snow. I think in the steady rhythm of my feet against the sidewalk.

I mumble to myself "Child Pornography", looking where I'm walking. When I look up again I see someone on a nearby bench giving me a look, the raised corner of their lip.