I am stranded at a bus stand. It has yellow painted iron tools. I don't want to sit down. I am standing here looking for a bus. Or pretending I am. I know I will never get up on a bus. But I like this. Straining my eyes to see when a bus is coming. And then people darting forward. For that window seat. For that rod by the door. For that girl in blue. For the sake of years of darting forward...of dead habits.
People come and go. While I wait. I don't really. I pretend. I just like the feeling. Of waiting for the bus. Or pretending to wait for a bus. Or pretending to pretend to wait for a bus. I like specially that part when the bus whooshes past me. Leaves me standing. Waiting for another bus. Or thinking that I am. When I am not, really.
And while I stand here, I see all kinds of people. I am surprised most of them don't really like waiting for a bus. They are just here to get the bus. And I figure the buses don't care too much about people waiting for them either.
Some times it will rain for hours. And people take shelter here. All the time worrying about getting late for their parties, offices, dates, dentist's appointments. They hate waiting. And then when the sun comes out, the long road shines like a silver ribbon. It hurts to even look at it. Its beautiful. The road. The ribbon.