A stranger on the wrong streetcar told me it comes back

I got on the wrong streetcar in The Annex at 8am and sat there full of regret while it carried me away from a meeting. You were across from me in a yellow raincoat, looked at my expression and said, it comes back, give it eight stops. It did. I was twelve minutes late. It was the best twelve minutes of that week. I do not know what you were talking about. I do not know if you were talking about the streetcar. I have taken the right one since.