San Francisco’s grey in December
Filled with lights and hills.
The wind cuts her fingers as she tightens her backpack straps
The night taunts knowing she has no one
A ball drops while she rides the midnight bus:
It's 2005.
A man offers a paper bagged bottle
She writes on scraps of napkin
Lost in headphones
Unnoticed on the sidewalk.
She walks fast; faster in the dark
Walking under streetlights, running under none
She pauses on a bridge
Watches water rush away.
Knees knock against skinny jeans
Pink tights line legs inside tall boots
Hood up, cheekbones high
She leans against the rail.
A boy films her walking toward him
She smiles shyly and puts a hand in her pocket
He asks if he can kiss her
He says she is the most beautiful girl in America.
