A Different Take

I started writing last night, but stopped, didn't save what scraps were there. There's something about the late night, 3 am, orange streetlight sneaking through the blinds. It is its own sense of things, a familiar yet strange world.

Then there is the morning, waiting for the bus to come in the train station, as a regular customer greeted the cashier.

"How do you like the snow this morning?" a woman asked the other woman behind the counter.

I didn't quite catch the reply, but the I did when the first woman added "like freckles."

Interesting.
Indeed.