Untitled Short Story

There was a tiny thing on my bus seat. I don't know when it got there; I simply looked down and it was next to me.
It was a tiny origami unicorn; impossibly small, impossibly detailed. The brilliant white paper it was made of seemed as if it were somehow not of this world. The gray bus carrying gray people through the gray city in a gray February, and somehow this tiny piece of paper existed within it.
Something drew my eyes to the seat across from mine; more perfect specks of white. A small infantry of tiny pieces of paper, folded into more tiny little animals, and next to them, a man. He was dressed as dully as the weather was, and was hunched into himself with such introversion that it looked painful. He ripped a shred off of the piece of paper laying in his lap and manipulated it within his hands briefly and gently, and then added what looked like a frog to his army.
The bus ride was a long one, and I couldn't help but watch him. He didn't seem to notice me.
The man tore off piece after piece from his sheet of paper. The collection of paper animals grew until he was out of paper, and then he began fidget and squirm urgently. For the first time I had seen, his face finally turned away from his lap. I diverted my eyes quickly, embarrassed that he would catch me staring.
I had become distracted with my own business until a few minutes later when I noticed out of the corner of my eye that the man had settled down. Before I could stop myself, I glanced over. He was absent-mindedly pulling at a loose screw on the frame of the bus window. After calmly picking on it for a while, he began to pull on it, tugging and twisting in a fixated sort of way until it finally gave up and allowed him to take it. The man began turning the dark gray, rusted screw over in his hands, examining it carefully. He then began to rub it between his fingers in a fashion that seemed incredibly precise, like a sculptor adding the finishing touches to his masterpiece.
The bus stopped. I looked up. It was my stop.
Before getting up, I carefully tucked the tiny white paper unicorn next to me into my purse. The man seemed mildly frightening, but I couldn't stand to leave the unicorn behind.

That evening the sun was setting as I climbed the stairs to the bus. They seemed steeper than usual, or maybe my body felt heavier. Maybe it had just been a long day. I flashed my bus pass to the driver; he didn't see it and he didn't care.
I walked down the aisle. A different bus than this morning; newer, cleaner, the blacks were blacker and the grays were grayer, the seats had no tears. But it was still a gray bus.
I sat in an empty seat slightly near the back. I carefully avoided sitting anywhere near the old woman in the back. She wore three dirty jackets over a men's shirt, and wild, curly hair mashed under an ill-fitting toque. She was homeless, but more importantly, she was insane. And extremely talkative.
The evening route was longer than the day route. Substantially longer. And I planned on riding it farther than usual, I couldn't bear the thought of walking home from my usual stop. To hell with my exercise plan, I'll sit on the bus for an extra ten minutes to avoid five of walking.
I leaned my head back against the back of the seat. It was getting dark. I was tired. I closed my eyes.

Noise.
"Eric!" The shout was loud and obnoxious and interrupted the dream I was having. I forgot the dream instantly. "Oh, Eric, you've come back for me! I knew you would come back for me!"
I opened my eyes. The lights inside the bus seemed blindingly bright. How had I slept with those there? I turned my head to the source of the noise. The crazy woman in the back of the bus had her arms outstretched to a man walking down the aisle. He seemed to be dressed even shabbier than she was.
"Oh, Eric!" The woman leapt up from her seat and began bouncing up and down. Her stomach -or maybe it was her breasts- seemed to jump twice as much as she did. The man recoiled from her, but never broke his pace or his gaze at the floor as he continued past her.
"Eric?" The woman yelled, her voice breaking into sorrow. "Eric?!"
She continued shouting, and the man continued ignoring her.
The bus pulled over. The bus driver came to the back.
"Come on, Maddie," he said, motioning for her to come. He knew her first name. I felt pity for him.
"Eric!" Maddie said to him in an explaining tone.
"That ain't Eric, Maddie," the bus driver said, gently pulling her by the elbow. Her face turned to confusion. She turned back to look at the man sitting in the back of the bus. He was hunched forward, rubbing his hands together, still ignoring the woman with impeccable skill.
"Oh..." She mumbled. "Oh, I suppose it isn't..."
The bus driver escorted her to the front of the bus, allowing her to stay on since she seemed to have calmed down. I closed my eyes again.

The bus pulled to a stop. I opened my eyes, instinctively knowing it was my stop. And it was.
I clumsily pulled myself to my feet. Something fell to the floor. I looked down and picked it up.
It was a small piece of metal. Dark gray, with flecks of rust. But its shape was unmistakable - it was a unicorn.