I put on my low-heeled walking shoes, tucked my leather wallet into the bottom of my canvas tote bag, and slipped out through the side gate at two forty-five.

The wooden bench at the city bus stop had three painted slats that had faded to bare gray wood grain in the sun.

I sat at the far end of the bench with my tote bag on my knees, watching four lanes of traffic roll past toward the freeway ramp.

A white delivery van eased into the turning lane, cutting off my view of the gas station across the road where I had bought my quick pick ticket two days before.

A city bus pulled up to the curb nine minutes behind schedule, its air brakes hissing against the hot pavement as the folding doors squeaked open.