I'm standing over here. On the other side of the street. You're fighting. Angry gestures and quietly spoken words of conflict. She pulls her phone out and leaves you standing. You follow but she raises her hand and you stay put, looking at her, frustrated. I dare cross the street to the bus stop, now that this ice cold silence has settled. She doesn't see me, pretends she doesn't notice me, talking into her phone, whispering angry words. You refuse to look at her, turn your back, hands deep down in your pockets. Should I say something, do I dare, I glance in her direction. Our eyes meet, she nods, I nod, she looks away again and I can finally breathe. You stand with your back towards us, hand deep down in your pockets. The car arrives, you turn towards her, she yanks the door open, sits down in front. An obscene gesture later the only things left are fumes and broken hearts. You don't see me. Setting sun, cold air creeping up my legs, joining the cold pl