3. Windows

I arrive at the bus stop, feet aching with the burden of my choices. 

What the hell am I doing? Leaving home. Running away from my job. This isn't what sane adults do. 

The voice of my reason strangely takes the shape of my level-headed, fair but firm boss. I remember what she said to me yesterday. 

"Cheer up! You stare through that window any longer and it will take you through with it." 

She didn't know then that the window (the world) had captured me precisely 10 hours and 43 minutes prior to her warning. She didn't know what had happened to me, why I turned up to work late for the first time in my working life. I shake my head, brushing away my worries with such a simple gesture.

The first I see of the bus is a murky glass framed by a thick layer of moss, beckoning me to follow its path. 


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