Commute (@ Scrawlers)
37 steps; left turn; 29 steps; catch the bus.
Outside my oversized window they are there again, sitting together, holding hands on a bench. Faces turned toward each other, smiling as they wait.
37 steps; left turn; 29 steps; catch the bus.
She’s alone today, this is not uncommon. Unusual is her hands fluttering at her eyes even as she defiantly tries to restrain them in her lap. Down the block he’s walking away, head down, long strides, with his fists shoved into his pockets.
37 steps; left turn; 29 steps; catch the bus.
The bench waits, empty.
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