I take the bus home from the studio most nights now, and around this transition from fall to winter is when it becomes a sort of public hibernation space. The smaller the hours, the more bodies morph into hooded cocoons of shadow and fabric. I’m always fascinated by how people choose to fill their idle time behind these walls—imagining their interior lives is often my own modus. I enjoy the fragmented glimpses of football obsessives late to livestreams and kids snapping crushes their smizing faces. The best are messages drafted and deleted, the raw instinct before the panache. But if I don’t have the energy to steal glances, I usually just stare off into space trying to let the day dissipate from my chest. Feels good to make room for my thoughts to fuse with reflections of other passengers, to come down with the moonrise as we go our own ways together.