I'm sitting on a bus after a fifteen hour day of doing absolutely everything. I feel wonderful. People in their natural habitats are some fascinating creatures--you wonder what they're up to; riding a city bus at nine-thirty in the evening. Maybe that woman with the rolling suitcase is someone's Russian grandmother, coming back from a stressful day of just being in such a strange place as America. Maybe the woman next to you is worrying about her teenage son who didn't come home for dinner for the last two nights. That man is coming home from work; that one is going to a nighttime class at the community college; she's visiting an estranged lover...
So many thoughts are born on nights like these, when my breath fogs up the glass and I can see the hazy reflection of a tired, tired girl.
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