Feet warm in my socks; my Birkenstocks against the concrete. My nose threatens to run, down my face, the cold stings. The pain in my right knee makes me shift my weight to the left.
Faint pancakes from this mornings breakfast. The sharp smell that the early March cold has, burning my nose. Gas, from the line of cars parked to the right and the bus, approaching the Bus Stop sign that I stand next to.