Insomnia

TBP



At the stop Sue used her hand to wipe the fog from the inside of the oversized window and peered out at the city streets. She listened to snatches of conversation around her. Almost musical, her fellow passengers seemed to speak in time with the staccato cadence of the large wipers that cleared the windscreen in front of the driver.

THWACK, thwack

THWACK, thwack

THWACK, thwack

Rivulets ran down the glass on the outside of the window and she traced their paths with her mittened fingers as she studied the street lights and the neon signs in the shop windows that whirled past. She made note of the way the lights reflected off the droplets that fell around them, the resultant halos that formed.

Forgotten was the budget analysis, due at work first thing in the morning. Forgotten was the hamper of laundry, sitting neglected in the closet of her cold, cold room. Forgotten was her need for sleep.

The only thing that mattered tonight was the motion of this bus and the wet, empty, silent streets that blurred together before the dawn.


 

 

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