My favorite memory of being alone is waiting for the bus, opposite that dark road, sitting under the streetlight at the bench, with a two-lane road running into the distance on either side, and seeing nobody. The bus won’t come for another thirty minutes — I missed the previous one, but I have nowhere to be, no schedule to keep. I have a song stuck in my head, and I spent ten minutes just dancing on the yellow line. I always associate pavement with busy streets, so the chance to just dance on it makes me laugh, and to dance like nobody’s watching is the best.