Today,

behind me, on the bus, two ten-year-old girls eating sweets, discussing.
- Are you reading something at the moment?
- I am.
- What's it called?
- It's called Wuthering Heights.
- Oh. pause Is it from the library?
- No, it's from my gran's shelf.
Outside, a woman walked past the bus stop, her sandals showing her toe bending peculiarly over her big toe, with every step.

On my way home, I accidentally kicked a wasp buzzing over some muck, but it didn't sting me. On the street, four teenagers, two girls, brunette and blonde, just like my best friend and I a quarter of a century ago, except did we use to have boys? - I expect we did. Don't spit on the street, children.