Water Beads Are Gone

I washed the condensation off the cab window with the back of my fingers. A few beads of water remain there like an archipelago.  I tried to take a picture of these water beads but I think the camera focused on the trees and sky outside.  As I write the archipelago is slowly evaporating.   What had been fifty beads of water is now eight or so tiny pin drops.  The others have all been absorbed into the warm heated air of the cab. 

My hair is wet.  Normally I wouldn’t care.  But on a cold morning it chills my body and reminds me of how people catch colds in the winter.   I had the cabby, a pleasant lady whom I believe I’ve ridden with before, turn the heat up to counter my frozen cerebral aura.  And this worked, eventually.  Now all the water beads are gone. 

My driver is quiet but congenial.  She’s had to take her own coat off, in response to my earlier request to turn the heat up.  She was day dreaming at the light just now as it changed.   I sniffed my nose loudly to catch her attention.  The driver behind me ran his horn.  That caught her attention.  She looked up and quickly drove forward.  I’m mesmerized by the crisp, blue winter sky, in the bright morning light. 

Running late, as always.  I guess all you can say about it is that it’s not too late.  Driving in at rush hour it could have been much, much worse.  Now, for the final stretch in it looks like we’ve got a straight shot.  There is plenty of loud graffiti under the fourth ring road underpass there to my right.  I wonder if there aren’t people who are picked up for making these contributions?  There must be ubiquitous camera on all such structures to capture everything, always.  My driver is jerking around in and out of lanes.  It’s unnerving.  More blue sky.  I fade in and out of dreams which cling to my thinking with angular logic that makes no conscious sense but seemed very important a second ago.