text: Sitting on a rusted metal bench in the middle of winter, there is a man waiting for the late night bus. He is worn down from a rough day and trying to find some warmth within the snowfall, slowly making their descent back down to be absorbed by the soil. His current companion is that of the freezing air that nips at any exposed skin, only to be complimented from the snow making his clothing damp. Becoming stiff from the air penetrating his bones, he notices a street lamp. Unlike many of the street lamps around him, ones recently replaced with newer technology and sharing the same shape, this one lamp is different. The light from this lamp has an orange hue, the type of light that may not warm the body but warms the soul. With eyes watering; nose running; and lungs full of the cold and dry air, the man proceeds to rise from the bench. Acting as a shuttle for the snow that has stuck to his clothing, the man proceeds to shuffle through the piled snow to that beacon of warmth. On his way there, things become darker and his surroundings become hallucinations of what he feared was lurking behind him. He reaches into his pockets to clench what he needs to help him get by. A new pack of cigarettes and a broken lighter emerged from his coat. Paranoid by the felling of being watched, he stops to notice his surroundings. As he looks around, he notices that he is at a playground, the type he use to visit before when he was younger, but now run down. Memories soon come back to him, as if the levy that held back water from floods slowly collapsed. He walks around the playground equipment illuminated by the same orange hue, seeing his youth before his eyes. What looks like small children come running around the slides. Concerned for their safety, the man calls out to them. Before he has a chance though, he notices that the children are the younger versions of himself. These figures run around as if there is no other thing to do. Amused by seeing this, the man cleans one of the swings of snow and joins in on the fun. Suddenly, there are the sounds of screeching air followed by a rumble that slowly faded away. Once the man heard these noises, he new he missed the bus. He is frustrated by this, but he does not have the energy to spend on it. Disappointed in himself, he reaches for his phone and proceeds to call a ride to pick him up. He finishes and notices that it will be a while before he will go back home, so he does what he can to conserve his energy. While waiting for the ride to come, the man notices that he is still holding on to the cigarette pack and lighter, albeit a little to tight. He loosens his grip a bit and begins to pull out a cigarette, slightly bent from his grip. As the cigarette approaches his lips, the man tries to bring a flame to his lighter, having to try a few times to get a good flame coming from it. Once he succeeds in bringing a flame to his lighter, he illuminates himself as he starts to light the cigarette. Cold, dry air rushes into his mouth before he can get a good burn on the cigarette. He then puts the pack of cigarettes and the lighter back in his pocket, only to pull out his phone to check on his ride. "37 minutes until they get here," said the man. "Guess I have some time to enjoy then." He proceeds to put the phone back in his pocket and starts to breath through his cigarette, filling his mouth with the feeling that the orange hue gives to his soul. His head then rises to look up to the sky, only to see more snow slowly drifting down to the earth. He still looks up to the sky as if he is reflecting on his life, but he is just staring into a void and not spending his energy. "Excuse me," speaks a soft voice coming from behind the man. "What are you doing here?" Surprised by the voice, the man freezes out of fear before slowly looking behind him. He notices a women standing behind the swing set, cascaded in the darkness of the night. "Waiting for a ride," says the man, unsure of the indentions the woman has. "I missed the last bus for the evening. What are you doing here?" A small pause lingers in the air before the woman breaks it, saying "I missed the bus too." She then gestures to the empty swing besides the man. "Is anyone else waiting there?" "It's all yours," answers the man, as he gestures back to show that it is free. The woman then proceeds to make her way to the swing set, having the curtain of darkness lifted from her. She then cleans off the swing besides the man and sits down in it. Once there, she then starts to rock in the swing, causing it to move a bit. She looks over to the man, who has resumed to staring into nothing and slowly working his way through his cigarette. Things go back to being silent for a bit before the woman works up the courage to ask a question. She asks, "Do you happen to have one I can use?" "I do," the man responds as he reaches back into his pocket for the cigarettes and the lighter. He looks for a cigarette that isn't damaged from his grip and hands it to her. "My lighter is broken. Do you mind if I light it for you." "Not at all," says the woman while moving closer for the man to light the cigarette that she acquired. "Go ahead." It takes a while for the man to bring an ember to the cigarette, but it eventually catches and a good draft is started. He then brings his arm back to his pocket, while the woman moves back to her swing and takes in a deep breath. She then lets out a small cloud of smoke that lingers in front of the pair, dancing in frigid air it contrasts and highlighted in the orange hue. The man is pleasantly surprised by this, as he always wanted to do something that looked so amazing. "Sorry about the lighter," the man blurted out as he forgot to apologize for the lighter. "It's alright," the woman replied in her soft tone. They continue to rock in the swings by each other. Glances and some half smiles are exchanged between the two, but still in silence.