mornings sans coffee
this morning I walked halfway to the bus stop in my red fluffy bedroom slippers before the chagrined realization of unusual and incongruent softness, the flushed about-turn back home, the fervent hope that DEAR GOD PLEASE LET NO ONE HAVE SEEN
though I imagine that the old man I passed closing his car door at the top of my street was perhaps not, after all, smiling broadly at the way it's so cold outside today that his breath hangs lazily in the dry-chilled air for seconds before dissipating like a dream.