Did you ever witness something and know for certain that there was far more to it than what you had just seen? I think it's down to what arty-farty, dramatic types refer to as the back story: stuff which happens before the event, which you aren't necessarily a party to, but which is deeply significant to what you are seeing.
The rush-hour traffic was pretty typical on the M62 last Friday: generally slower than on other days of the week, but still moving, albeit occasionally degrading into stop-start mode as lane-jumping jokers tried to save five seconds by undertaking the car in front. I'd just passed the exit before mine, when I noticed two cars pulled up on the hard shoulder ahead of me. I assumed they must have had some sort of minor knock because of the inconsistent traffic speed. The aftermaths of such knocks are a pretty common sight on Friday evenings.
As I drew nearer the cars, I saw the two drivers inspecting the damage. The driver of the front car was a man in his mid- to late-thirties; the driver of the second car was a woman of similar age. From their general body language, I guessed they had both decided that whatever damage there was was inconsequential, and that they would both rather just let it drop, rather that involve their insurance companies.
The two drivers nodded at each other, and the man made to return to his car. But the woman suddenly ran after him. He turned, and she kissed him: not just a friendly peck on the cheek, but a proper kiss on the mouth.
As I overtook them, they both returned to their cars, and presumably rejoined the motorway traffic.
What the flipping heck was going on there, do you reckon?