Stumble upon that pebble drop,
(In front of the space between AS and FC, that tricky, damp spot.)
That grey, loose stone,
It makes her trip.
(Because she wasn’t paying attention to the ground, silly girl. And her muddy lilac shoes grow muddier.)
White, soft palms on the gravel ground,
(Or at least, they used to be soft, those palms. I can’t remember anymore.)
You tip your hat,
And wish her luck. (For the heck of it; I was too preoccupied at the moment.)
Three minutes into the roaring din, (The tin can rattle of the people-packed vehicle.)
She steps off,
The rain begins. (It’s a good thing she had an umbrella.)
Fingers push metal
And glass, and cloth. (The cloth was the softest, and nicest to feel, of course. It was blue.)
They smile at each other. (I fail to describe this part.)
It’s awkward, at most.
