Is this seat taken<br />
                <br />
            <br />
            The evening light reflected on the bus windows like amber honey, diffused and heavy in the stagnant air of a day just past its prime. I always loved this hour. The hush of commuters, the low rumble of the bus engine beneath me, and the faint crackle of worn leather seats trying to bear the load of my abundance. It was a kind of solace, really, being cradled by something so steady when the world often struggled to accommodate a woman of