Rainy night in August. You are returning home on the last bus. Outside, there's a sleeping neighbourhood, with black squares of store windows and apartment windows. The only other person in the bus besides you is an elderly man with a crossword puzzle in his hands, and an empty beer can rolling on the floor. Today was a busy evening filled with people and events, but all you can feel right now is tiredness and a slight sadness. The bus passes a 24-hour flower stall with a smoking saleswoman in the doorway, an abandoned van covered with tags on the side of the road, and an unlightened park where you once kissed a person whose face you can no longer remember. You need to get off at the next stop. You anticipate your hair, clothes, and favorite sneakers getting wet (you don't have an umbrella because you despise them). But it doesn't bother you because you'll be going home in the best possible company - a mix of settima tacca for 5/8: radio.
