The View from the Bus

It is 6:47 on a Tuesday morning. 
You can imagine my excitement. 
It’s true I made it through Monday with minimal trauma, but when you wake up on a Tuesday morning wondering if it’s Friday yet, you’re in trouble.
Frankly, every time someone says something derogatory about Monday, Tuesday laughs silently, its bright eyes crinkling in amusement.
I’ve foregone my usual iPod diversion on this day.  It is too cold to pull it out of my purse, the mercury reaching an anemic 9 degrees Fahrenheit; and even if I wanted to take off my gloves to work the touch screen, somehow, at this temperature, the earbuds will just fall out of my ears anyway.
Tuesday. Tuesday in the winter. 
The bus is warm, though; and after coughing asthmatically into my elbow for a bit, I close my eyes. 
And when I open them, a couple stops later, I look out the window.  There is a man there.  Hatless, gloveless, an unzipped, thin cotton jacket his only protection against the wind that Canada insists we share in. 
Hey.  The man spreads his arms wide, grinning.  You lookin’ good.  What you doin’ later?
Well that’s different.  I don’t think I’ve ever been hit on through a bus window.
Wait. 
I turn my head, look around the bus.
Yep.  He’s talking to me. 
I turn back to the window, spread my hands, mouth my response.  Dude, where’s your coat?
The bus pulls away.
I close my eyes, smiling.
I still got it.