Interlude, part deux

The car passes. The rain begins again. I pull up the collar of my raincoat and turn the brim of my hat down, trying to insulate myself against the chill of the evening. Did she forget? Am I on the right corner, or was it the next street over? Perhaps she agreed to meet just to get me off the phone and out of her life. Again. Damn.

Another drag on the cigarette, the smoke clinging around me like a blanket. No breeze.

Headlights approach. I lower my head and peer from under the edge of my hat, not wanting to look anxious to see her. The car passes. I pull the last drag from my cigarette and flick it into the street. Maybe this was all wrong. Maybe I shouldn’t have called her. Maybe…maybe.
Maybe I shouldn't have become an astronaut. Maybe the bullfighting thing was all wrong. Maybe, just maybe, training mice to be disc jockeys wasn't a good idea. I can admit that now. I've grown.

I lean back against my lamppost and wait.