i hate when i do that

On the subway ride home from work tonight I saw a man with a Liahona bike. For those of you who don't know, Liahona is a brand of bike that (atleast to my knowledge) is based in Utah and is mostly targeted to missionaries. Anyways, I thought that I should go ask the man where he got his bike, thinking that it could possibly lead to a missionary oriented discussion. Perhaps he bought it from a missionary or maybe the missionaries use to teach him and gave it to him to help him get around and take care of his family...I don't know. (I'd like to think that he didn't steal it from some missionary.)

Well, the thought to go up and talk to him wouldn't go away. The words kept repeating in my mind, "Where did you get your bike?" Those seemed like easy enough words to say.

I chickened out and didnt' say anything. And then, we both got off at my stop. I could redeem myself. But I didn't. I walked out the turnstile and up the stairs.

Once above ground, I paused for a moment, kicked myself for being so stupid, turned around and walked down the stairs and back to the platform where I assume this man was waiting to transfer to another train. I arrived only to find a new train sitting at the stop, its doors closing as it prepared to leave. My bicycle man was nowhere in sight. He was likely already on the train.

I don't know why or if I was suppose to talk to him, but I don't think that's what's important.
I hate when I do that.