It's cold today in Boston.  Gray and drizzly.  I stand quietly, wait for the bus.

I read a book purchased at a library sale--the label on the spine still in place and a simple stamp on the inside cover.  Old forgotten books that don't deserve to be lost. Two bucks for a bag full o'books.  Time to make room for the new books, dust free and stiff.  I've given these forgotten books as gifts before, try to give them new life and maintain some memory of their existence.

A woman on the bench furiously combs out her hair.  Where is she going?  Her coat is bright red, a match to her now detangled hair.  

Finally the bus arrives and we obediently file into line, swipe our cards to gain admission.  I keep reading and ride patiently.