Twice now I’ve seen a man and his service dog at my bus stop. We’re all three waiting for the #7 towards downtown at about 4:10.
I’m no more than a floating
The moist condensation of my breath coats my face, my mask trapping in the heat like a cold night out camping when I breathe open-mouthed into my sleeping bag, amazed at my ability to be my own heater. Only I’m not cold now and I don’t like having a wet face. Moist lips sound sexy, but not so much when they’re moist with your own sweat and recycled air.