brett

Did you ever stop to consider what a lonely thing a bus stop is? All those people keeping a safe distance from one another, not making eye contact, walking to the curb to squint down the road every eight seconds, longing for the bus to come and liberate them from the excruciating awkwardness of standing there with other strangers who, like you, are too broke or too self-righteous or too close to their last DUI to drive a car? Hoping against hope that this isn’t the time one of them turns out to be an escaped serial killer, doing thirty years to life for a mess of killings at lonely bus stops, using only the sharp edge of a fare card?

Or how lonely a streetlight is, helplessly resisting the dark?

Or a diner when you’re eating alone?

I think I miss Layla.

Or maybe I don’t.

I don’t know.