The morning had that color days get when they promise nothing. Not rain exactly, not light either. A gray stretched over the city like an old blanket that does not warm you, only covers you. The bus arrived seven minutes late, but no one complained. The people waiting at the stop wore faces erased by discipline, tired in that orderly way. No one looked truly angry. That made it worse. They had grown used to being eaten by time one small piece at a time.