June.
The Chihuahua taco truck is running hot. They do not serve Chihuahua tacos. It is pulling out of the parking lot now and I wonder how many emissions are being paraded into the atmosphere. Just wonder.
I am leaving and this is only the beginning. As always, what I shall encounter I do not know. The future is a tough prediction. Just some time alone.
“We got about five more minutes folks and then we’ll be on our way,” the bus driver says. He has dark brown hair and looks like a Bobby or a Lynn.
I am distracting myself from the thought of being home. Earlier on the beach I felt something similar to nervousness. And everyone says, “Oh, that’s exciting,” when I tell them I am going away for the summer.
They do not know me all that well, I guess. The feeling is not excitement, no. It is something much deeper, much more telling, than excitement.
We are keeping the rooftop air vents open for now. It is our turn to pull out of the parking lot and again I wonder about the emissions.
Words 