tonight’s frost tipped fingers wrap around melike a second skin. the whoosh of cold air in the bus hums around my head and the chatter of passengers are static buzzes in the background, rhythmic zzzzzs that never end. across the glass panels old shophouses tired coffeeshops quiet bars defunct post offices leap past me like cheetahs streaking across the plains and i breathe. it looks like home, the blur of lights leading me back where i belong. where i am from it is quaint and homey, and it smells like faint cigarette butts chlorine from the swimming pool freshly mowed grass and i breathe. the day is slipping away like the sun does behind the clouds, and my bookbag weighs like the world on my shoulders but it’s okay. i’m back where the dogs yip the children laugh the cars chug. i’m home.