In the back row, next to the emergency exit. The buildings were rushing by as the engine quietened to a hush. Then the tarmac turned wet streaked by jets of falling rain thrown to the ground.
I sat up taller in my seat. The umbrella was on a laundry basket kilometres away where I had left it. In a few minutes, I would have to brave the wet and the streams of muddy water. For a moment, I could tense my back on the bus.
Le Ciel est Bleu 