Waiting for the bus awakens my senses as there are so many sounds that pass through my ears, smells that tickle my nose, and sights that hold my gaze far longer than they should.
I impatiently wait for the bus.
Cars honk whizzing up and down Broad Street.
Summertime. Windows down.
“We dem boyz” blasting out the windows.
Like an owl, I’m constantly surveilling my surroundings.
Hold my purse close to me.
Young child approaches.
“Can I see your phone?”
“No!” I bark sternly.
“Loosie. Loosie. I got loosies”, yells the old woman wearing a hospital bracelet.
The bus is finally in view.
Just the 26. I need the 18.
Passengers dart to the front and back of the bus.
Driver sits with no emotion.
Free spot on the bench.
I reluctantly take a seat.
A voice rings over top of me.
“Hack cab! Hack cab!”
Septa employee sits beside me.
She lights her cigarette.
Smoke fills the air mixed with the summer heat.
Sirens blare in the distance.
My focus averted.
The police race by with their lights flashing.
Finally the 18 is in view.
The impatient crowd swarms and boards the bus with me lost in the midst.
I swipe my monthly while others enter tokens, dollar bills, or weekly passes.
“Does this bus stop at Washington Lane?”
The bus driver gives a stoic “yes!”
Baby next to me crying.
Man on my left talking to himself.
Heavy woman across from me on her cell phone discussing her bills.
Bus stops and picks up more passengers.
Men board the bus with cans in paper bags.
“tsssssssssssss.” The men open their beer while nestling in a seat.
Other men bob their head to music seeping loudly out of their head phones.
Baby is still crying.
Woman screaming “back door” as she tries to exit.
I see my intersection in the near future.
To alert the driver or not?
Someone else beat me to it.
I stand and take my grand exit only to repeat the routine the next day.