I wait for the bus. The cars tread carefully through the intersection. A black sedan four cars behind gets impatient, swerving to get a good look ahead. I can tell by the suit he's late for a meeting. The light turns green; he pulls into the right-turn only lane. He picks up speed, about to cut. His wheels hit the river in front of me. Our faces meet through the water. Read his lips: Sorry. Nothing but pitiful looks.
by Daryn Houston of Los Angeles
