Waiting (and counting)

She was standing at the corner of commerce and soledad.
Brown skin, brown hair, blue dress, counting eyes and moving lips.
Three white, two black, one red, one silver.
Eight in all this stop, three hundred and eight so far this morning.
Light changed to green and she would start again.
One blue, one black, one green, one black, one white. Stop. Start again.

Maybe out of sympathy or camaraderie, I started counting too.
Counting things that went wrong and things that went right.
Counting time.
Miles (1315).
Songs.
Kisses.
Wishes.