Lilies in Summer

Who knew flowers were such great conversation starters? And I don't mean flowers starting to talk to me, but rather what happened on the bus on my way back home.

Having won the raffle at our office for week-old flowers, consisting of white gladiolus, purple roses, and pink Peruvian lilies, I get on the bus and sit between two men. One the one side, an older African-American man (Man 2) wearing a 2008 Beijing Olympics cap ( how fitting for the occasion) and on the other side  a middle-age Filipino (Man 1) man. Both admire the flowers and the following conversation ensues (although much better than what I remember):

Man 1:Nice flowers. Put them in water when you get home.
Me: Yes.
Man 2: Hmmph. As if you didn't know how to do that already! Why he tellin' you that for?
Me: Maybe some people don't have that common knowledge?
Man 1: Are these flowers for you or someone else?
Me: For me and my roommate.
Man 1: Very nice. My uncle has a house with a garden and lots of flowers. You like flowers?
Me: Yes. I try to get fresh flowers weekly from the Farmer's Market.
Man 2: Where do you get gladious from this time of year?
Me: I don't know. I got these from work.

By this point, Man 1 is telling me about where he lives, how much he pays for his apartment, about wanting to buy a house, and a bunch of other things that were providing me with way too much information. I smile and nod and agree to owning my own property with a garden one day.

Man 2: Do you write?
Me: Not as much as I'd like to. Why?
Man 2: You should.
Me: Well, I actually have a blog where I write about interactions I have with strangers- like this. This conversation would be blog material.
Man 2: Lilies in Summer. That would be a good title to start off a story.
Me: Do you write?
Man 2: Yes. I used to. It's been a while.
Me: What do you write? Fiction, non-fiction, poetry?
Man 2: A little bit of everything, but its been a while. Haven't been inspired. Waiting on my muse.
Me: Interesting that you are waiting on a muse. I recently heard an author speak about creativity coming from outside yourself versus inside yourself, and how the anciet Romans and Greeks always ascribed works of art to a higher power- a muse.
Man 2: Oh yes. Definitely. She gives me creativity and inspiration?
Me: She?
Man 2: My muse.
Me: So it's a She?
Man 2: It's always a She. But She hasn't visited in a while. I might have upset her or something. But I've been waking up at 3:15 AM in the mornings, and I think She's getting ready to visit me again.
Me: You never know. Maybe you'll wake up tomorrow morning and be inspired to write something. Better have a pen and paper at hand.
Man 2: Oh yes. I'll do that and remember you. Gotta write down what She tells me. If not, She'll go to someone else.
Me: You also have to give yourself time.

In the meantime, we reach Man 1's bus stop. He gets up to leave, wishes me a good evening, asks me my name, says "Nice to meet you" and walks off the bus.

Man 2: That was a nice ending. "Nice to meet you." That's a good ending to a story.

I talk a bit more with Man 2, listening to him speak about Her and how writing is a spiritual process, how he needs to get back to writing, and how I should be writing as well. We get to my stop, I get up to leave:

Me: Here's my stop. What was your name?
Man 2: Max ( or Mac or Marc, didn't hear it too well)
Me: Well, nice to meet you.