The bus is late. We stand in the shelter, our breath visible for the first night this year. Carmella watches the road, waiting for her bus to appear, her arm touching mine when she shifts her weight. She looks at me occasionally, as I stand by her side, wobbling a little. Her eyes are as cold as the night air that nips at my ears. I want to put my arm around her. The bus approaches. Carmella hugs me, holding on tight. She whispers goodbye, kisses my cheek, and gets on the bus and is gone before I can reply.
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Hello, my name is Jack Sparrow. I'm a 50 year old self-employed Pirate from the Caribbean.
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