By now, I’ll have spent twice as much time on this bus than in class.
Through the windows, the world is streaked and muddy, and it looks like god has turned on the lights outside, it’s so bright. These goosebumps aren’t from the cold. It’s the music, loud and full in the ears, that shivers.
The homeless ask for quarters with an apology for interrupting your music. It’s as if the cold has turned their bitterness to desperation, and we get a little politeness in return. No sign of my lost girl, just a man in her spot with too many bags, a frumpy hat, and two old paperbacks that he never opens.
My socks are soaked through at the ankles, and all I can think of is how good it’ll feel to peel them off and jump in the shower. Or how good my wonton soup will taste when I eventually get home. Or how convenient it’ll be to just take off and drive next time, instead of waiting outside for the bus.
I may be wet and cold, but I’m going somewhere nice. That’s enough to keep the spirit warm.
I don’t do this often enough.