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Nose pressed to the window, today as always I am watching things slide by. I am watching long and hard to find their rhythm, because there is an undercurrent of sameness in everything and it is all connected deep deep down.

City trees are fenced in wrought iron, one foot high, and share their crowded space with tulips, tight against the small bars. This seems just as ominous to me as the torn SALE banner on the sporting goods store. Today the clouds are being annoying and forceful and all these things are all rumbling with the same dark warning.

Wipe my wet breath steam off the window, clammy comfort of glass and think about how I used to fight sleep on the overnight rides. I'd lean into the cold blackness outside and stare unseeingly at night all the way back to Canada. I never lasted longer than an hour but the strung lights and Yanni on my walkman made lots of sense together.

Guess what: I like this sameness, I like this little huddled personal area we all pretend is private. Just enough space in our seats to get lost, inside looking out. In school I never minded being the first pickup on the bus route, it gave me time for quiet.

Today I am busy watching electric wires swoop. Their sagging middles are whizzing by fast enough to look like dancing, and soon comes sleep, expected and sudden.

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