Mist falls in his lap while he waits at the bus station. It's 6:08am and the bus hasn't reach the stop. His hands so wrinkled like a washed shirt that needs ironing. He holds a sandwich and slowly bites into it as the cheese squeezes out of the sides. It's 7:35am and the bus did not come...What he... Sign in to see full entry.
Love & Life for Thursday, March 17, 2016
By DoodyM90 - About Me - E-mail this page - Add to My Favorites - Add to Blog List - See other blogs in Poetry
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