i wasn't short enough to walk straight under the semi-truck parked in the half street that leads nearest to the building where i work. but i ducked under the wide belly for a few moments in the early morning haze and listened to the mist fall against everything else except me. felt the overwhelming desire to smoke a cigarette. in the day-light-dark. under this empty bridge connecting nothing. i thought about the way memory passes between people like a sickness can. a cough. a kiss. the cold. reducing us all to blurred vision and snotty noses. in the rain, in your arms, i know, that isn't always true.