Impaired Vision

A deep inhale of the cigarette, and a slow, steady exhale of a stream of smoke like city smog. A nervous bite of the lip along with a churning of the gut. Little goosebumps along my arms and an irritating strand of hair tickling my chin like a misplaced feather. Feet hanging off the edge, butt numb from the concrete, eyes gazing out into the horizon of pollution.
Waiting, waiting, waiting.
For something that may never come. It's my every-evening routine to come out here onto this bridge and watch the traffic ease over the ledges. Also looking for answers in the never-ending trail of lights and echoes of blowing horns.