I am sitting on a bench at Damen and Wilson waiting for the bus and the sun is nice and the sky is that pale morning blue with white wisps of clouds and it’s been so long since a year ago or six months ago or any other time ago really.

Spring is almost here and there are the birds and the buds and all of that, but I know it’s coming when the pop punk gets into heavier rotation. A woman in all black—black boots, black leather jacket, black tights—put on some lotion or hand cream and it churns my stomach, I should eat breakfast, probably. I am wearing jeans and a denim jacket. Blue denim. Time to get a black one.