Time and life are flying by.

Through my window I catch sight of a woman lugging a massive sack of something over her shoulder yet it’s bigger than her body.

It’s just afternoon, but clearly she’d been working this hard for a while: hours? days? weeks?

Months, maybe… Years, likely. By the look of her weathered face partially twisted by the strenuous effort. Yet, so obscured too. shielded from the rain which is pouring down in sheets, matting her thick black hair over half her face.

She could be anywhere from late twenties to her forties, but before I can see more, we’re long gone.

Now, on this gray day, I drift in and out of a conversation I don’t care to have with the man beside me.