40X Inbound

My bike is on the front rack and I am in a dry place and moving time compared to the wet urban water ick I can see passing just on the other side of the window. The heat acidic hate smell makes transfer with rain in gray brown black liquid flow istead of belief. The crazy lady that I sat next to on the side wall where I sit now the last time I rode the bus rambling about her dream physical nightmare reality is not here today. She was skinny and her teeth bad with one on the front replaced by a square chunk of silver looking metal. As I first listened to her, my impression was that she was chatting with the first row of polished plump Bujahideen. Turns out they were only interested in laughing with quiet voices faintly covering up their fear. I tried to engage the skinny lady who was now rocking forward and back chanting about the man not getting off of her. I asked her to tell me when it happened. Big round brown eyes below a long forehead and short cropped wirey hair looked at me confused and said, "No, it was a dream I just woke from." A dream loop in the present that turned back to the front row and started rocking forward and back all over again. She was gone and I felt helpless as I explained to the bus driver who seemed more without help for the woman than even I had. I am now staring out into the shades of gray morning and just realized that it's cold on this bus. We are about to get off the belt for the downtoon. The first stop is mine in front of the over crowded county jail, across 4th Street from the courthouse. US Mail awaits and the streets are wet.