Sweat etched into my neck the time line I waited.
Frustration built.
My shoulder and back made of stone, asanas won't touch this week or next. I wish to set forth my prayer in motion, a ride I await, my vessel my freedom. I'm enslaved waiting for the ride.
I get home, a small prayer answered. A cold quenching cure for thirst quickly dies. The undercap reads "To the wheels on the bus." I scoff and go downstairs.
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