I sat on the curb tonight.

Right outside of Hulsey, after scuba let out at nine. My bag nestled beside me, and my braid dripped down my back. I had my phone in my hands, and I was absently turning it and polishing the orange cover, with my elbows on my knees. I know people assumed, if they wondered at all, that I was waiting for a ride. But I wasn't. My car was sitting a few dozen feet away, with half a tank of gas and the keys in the ignition. But there are some places you want to go that a car won't take you.

There are tears here. I don't like them. They burn, and when they are willed away they stick until it hurts to swallow. But, even after all these years, I don't know what to do with them. So I sat there contemplating my phone and letting people think I was waiting for someone--and I was. Hoping that, if I provided the opportunity, somebody would come along with the gift of a few moments. That would have been nice.

But they never came. So after a while I took a deep breath and stood up, slung my bag on my back, and grabbed my keys. I let the car take me home, since tonight, at least, I didn't find a way to where I wanted to go. Maybe tomorrow.