The shadow chases the side of the bus as we pass between streetlights. It crawls up along side and then falls back, constant indecision, rocking back and forth, as we speed and slow, weave and break, through evening traffic.
You get to know the road in the dark, the way it pulls up or down, the curves and intersections, the pieces that float by—fronts of stores and houses, garage doors, and lights, like rubble floating along in the dark.
And there are these days, unexpected in the midst of winter, suddenly warm and rainy. When I find at the end of a ride home that I've been staring out the window, smiling.