1

It was a bus stop, one of the three-sided glass enclosures with a graffiti-carved slat bench, and it smelled like urine. The remaining fluorescent bulb flickered and buzzed, causing more irritation by still working than if it just had gone dark. Leaves and bits of unrecognizable paper trash piled in the corners, dampened and dried into detritus sculptures. To head-height the glass was opaque with scratches and smears of greasy fingers, hair gel, lipstick, spit, marker, newsprint, vomit and various beverages. The baby lay under the bench, quiet and still.