All Too Common

I'm late for my bus again. I know I've missed it but I run down the road anyway, making splashy splashy noises as I go on the rain glazed pavements, as if somehow this will give me back the fifteen minutes I lost from being late out of work. Trying to light my cigarette at the same time as running is a mistake, the lighter flame lashes out at me and ash from the badly rolled cigarette flicks up and into my eyes. I carry on with less haste, even from here I can see that there is no bus at the stop, and the world being the way it is means that because I'm late, it was, for once, on time.
I expected to miss the bus though so I'm not too aggravated, I guess I even prepared for this, with a George Orwell book in my bag and four chocolate chip cookies.

I can't seem to stop running though.