A bead of water rolls down the silver steel sink, drops to the black lip of the Insinkerator, and then out of sight. The refrigerator's exhaust fans kicks on. Coffee is cooling in the glass in my hands and I am working both ends of a conversation that has happened before and I suspect nothing very good will come from it.

In 15 minutes I will be at the bus stop at the bottom of the hill. A woman waiting there is wearing rubber boots that come up to her knees. She must be expecting something I don't know about.