As it showered then trickled; I stood under a small black umbrella. Yellow boots knocking the tarmac as the cars passed by.
Two PSVs offered a front passenger seat. Two PSVs offered seats behind the driver.
They teetered, leaned, roared and beamed. I waved each one on its way.
I stared at a bulb peeking out a window in the distance.
I heard the tire noise recede.
I rued their passing.
Le Ciel est Bleu 