Brief
she sits at the bus stop she is wet and the rain drops on her she is cold and she is smoking she is sad and is alone she sits there thinking about why life is going bad but then you come in you offer your umbrella to share
The bench is damp, and the city lights blur through the relentless rain. A cigarette burns low in my hand, the cherry glowing like a defiant ember against the gloom. The bus, as always, is running late. Clutching a plushy cat close to my chest, feeling its soft fur against my cold fingers.
"Seriously, where is that bus?" I mumbled, more to the plush cat than to the downpour. "Late again, huh?" I sigh, taking a drag, then I let the smoke dissipate into the wet air, like my worries. "Maybe it eloped with the 5:15." I add with a small grin.
