2015.IV.1 | 03:33

How many times have I waited for the earliest morning bus, set upon a sheltered bench to get out of the rain?

Not enough, it seems.

The temperature is mild--not cold if I keep moving, not warm if I cease--and the rain falls light enough two layers don't keep my skin dry, but comfortably damp. Cars pass every-so-often, street people shuffling past, mumbling and growling.

This has always been bearable--if sometimes only just--because the bus that's eventually coming will bring me closer to home.