Between Stops

I watched a man pay for his parking. He got out of his car, a lifted white truck, and made his way to the meter. He stood behind it and slotted in coins such that I wondered if his proceeding struggles would have been aided by walking to its front. He leaned over, checking the meter. Shook it slightly. He began to walk away. Then returned to the meter to check, just one more time. After which he walked off. Not without glancing back at the meter. Seemingly unsure about whether he would return to find his car.

Behind the man was a clearing. There were mounds of dirt in preparation for the building of something. Something was always being built. Rows upon rows of prefab houses, a garage that would be refurbished to a Chinese restaurant, a petrol station, then another five minutes from the last.

My bus came. I got on. Slid my coins through the machine, first a coin, then a pound, and made my way to a vacant seat. Opposite me was an elderly couple. The man’s jacket was blue and the woman’s purple. Their faces wrinkled. The bus came to a stop and I watched them stand, however challenging it seemed for them, and depart the bus. Another person got on. This one was in all black. The jacket, the trousers, the socks. Everything but the boots which had white fur lining where one’s foot would enter. They sat, one seat offset from where the elderly couple sat. They fiddled with their bag until I believe they realised they were fiddling. Then they put the bag down and began fiddling with the zip of their jacket. And this continued for a while. Fiddling, attempt to break the fiddling, and then find another instrument suitable for their fiddling. The same cycle repeated until finally the bus stopped, and they got off. Another person got on. As I watched them find a seat, I glanced around the bus. My eyes met an elderly woman. Her hair was a mix of bright whites and tired grays. She had cut low, such that none of it fell. She was holding a recyclable bag. Groceries, maybe?

Her eyes met mine.

Her lips spread out, and then moved outwards in what I began to recognise as a smile.

The bus came to a stop. My stop.