The story without a title

Inspired by a guy talking to himself on a bus.

The light sources on the dank bus were worn to the point that there was about as much light in the vehicle as there was past it's doors, in the calm night. Even the moon was hiding. A few bulbs were broken, including the one directly over my seat. After the other insufficient bulbs turned off as the bus reared into motion, I was plunged into darkness. There were three other passengers with somewhere to be. The driver was as silent as anyone, I had greeted him on the way in, but he kept his stony gaze out the front window. A nervous-looking younger mother was rocking back and fourth in her seat, her sheet of silky blonde hair half concealing the baby in her arms. The infant didn't make a sound, sleeping comfortably in his mother's care. In the front corner, sitting in a seat facing the isle, a middle-aged man muttered to himself. He stared fixedly at the vacant chair opposite him as he mumbled, even pointed at it a few times. I listened, trying to catch a sentence or two of his unnoticed monologue. "Do you see that, hun? See her?" He nodded towards me, almost unnoticeable, he was attempting to hide his gestures. "She's marked. Look at her light. She's the one."

Author's Note

Suggestions for a title? I have no idea.