Awaiting "Old 27" on a street corner, I turned to catch my dim reflection in the glare of the store windows.
I was surprised to look so dour, so unhappy, about the transfer slip clutched in my hand. It had been given to me by a passerby who had only known me a seemingly short time, but sensed in my face, somehow, something of worth.
As the bus came closer down the busy, lonely street, I knew the time had come. I shook my shoulders out and, with a deep breath held in tight, took the first step toward my next stop....
Soon I will return with new musings from a different locale, but for now the transition has begun. Don't respond over the Net, for I don't expect to be able to hear....
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