The #12 Roosevelt

tartar sauce recipe There was a woman sitting contentedly at the bus stop today.
She had a green knit hat. It looked homemade.
I sat next to her on the small bench,
pulled out my textbook to read (exams next week).
She asked what I was studying in school.
“Business, and then hopefully start my own someday.”
She smiled, with a wistful look in her eyes,
http://knifecourse.site/2018/08 forlæns og baglæns bamse “I wanted to do that.”
We talked about social security, politics,
and the politics of family in which the oldest sister dies
and she, the middle one, is responsible for their parents.
http://stillride.space/2018 stop saying yes “I am 50 years old. I don’t know how I am going to do it.”
The bus came, she sat in the back, and I stood nearby.
One of her counterparts was already on the bus
and with more in common to talk about, they conversed.
I only had a few blocks to go, and as I stepped off the bus,
she called after me: historique annuel cac 40 “Good luck!”
and smiled lovingly.
I waved goodbye and smiled back,
breathing in bus exhaust as I walked away.

You may also like