Sandybrook Bus Terminus Late autumn rain falls, the day ends early. The trees lining the street stand bare, complain of the cold. The last bus is just arriving at the Sandybrook terminus. The late evening sky is dark and deep. The wind comes gusting, piercing to the very bones.
Labor done, a few people get off the last bus.
The tip of a dry branch sways in the wind. To it the world is climbing to the branch's tip. And slipping back. The world complains it's too slippery. The yard in front of the station is desolate.