Poem about a bad day in San Francisco.
rainy day
soup weather afternoon
“end of the line!”
bus driver shouts
making a way home
through the raindrops
wind hustles and blows
freezing skin wet, cold
hot cheese soup waiting
bread comfort food
running rest of the way
from the station to the door
snuggled up and settled in
San Francisco can be a cold place
I love hot soup on a cold winter’s night. Nothing better that that mug of soup and an good piece of bread, I’ll be right over. 
Chillax 
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