Winter’s rain splatter’s against the window pain, the streets and the umbrella’s hovering above the heads of those walking to their destinations.
I watch those who didn’t bother to check the weather this morning sprint to the nearest shelter and or trudge throw the wet slush.
People are funny, I think to myself, making my way down towards the little café on the corner. People are very, very funny.
An old woman waves down a bus and the driver pretends he does not see her. She stands there devastated and decides to wait the fifteen minutes for the next bus.
I wonder why the driver didn’t just stop: he probably had some place important to go. I concluded even though I knew that it was before his break and he just wanted to go home. I didn’t like to judge others for their wrong doings and so I thought of another reason they may have done what it was they did.
The old woman sighs and looks up at the rain.
I look up to, imagining what she must be thinking. I remember I am hungry and continue on my way to the café.
Not long after do I see a tiny little squirrel crossing a busy street. I cross my fingers and pray this car doesn’t hit it. I hate it when people accidently run the little creatures over.
Luckily the driver notices and slows down just enough so the squirrel can dash away, only to get run over by a truck in the other lane.
I hold my breath and keep my head straight hoping my eyes don’t wander to the road. I don’t want to see the squirrel’s remains. My eyes uncontrollably glance at the street and I notice half of a black fluffy tail. I feel sick.
There is a beggar sitting under the shelter of a little shop.
I approach him and drop a few loonies into his cup.
He thanks me and watches as I go on my way.
Finally I reach the café and wipe my shoes on the carpet floor. I inhale the sweet scents of cinnamon, coffee and peppermint, then step into line behind the other four people in front of me.