Waiting For The Bus

The bus has been late two minutes now. I hate when the bus is late. I never feel comfortable sitting on this bus stop bench. I feel like I am at the mercy of a sea of staring, probing masses that are passing in cars and two legs… watching me. Watching me fidget, or scratch my nose. I meet their gazes with my own intense gaze. What do you want from me? I’m just waiting for the bus.

There is a man next to me on the bench. He’s coughing up phlegm all over himself. I don’t blame him, it’s not like he can stop or have any control over it. I wish he would though. I scoot down on the bench. Put a few more inches between me and him. I need my personal space you know? Oh, he would have just hit me there. Well, at least the bus will be here soon and I can sit on the opposite end of the vehicle from him… even if I have to listen to him hacking.

It always smells like stale burning rubber and anti-freeze on this street. The price you must pay for civilization. There’s a homeless man who walks this street and points his cane at passing cars while holding his nose. Some anti-emissions statement. I call him Emissions Man. Funny bum. It seems stupid. Like anyone in this whole city has stopped driving because of his tirade. Just a funny homeless guy who only shaves once a week.

I am in my tie and my shirtsleeves. Another day at the office. A few more weeks and I can afford a car. A corporate man, yet I can’t make enough to make payments on a car. Sometimes I feel like Emissions Man. I’m not going anywhere. Just up and down the same old street. No one is listening anyway. Just part of the dying breed of the American middle class.

Who’s Emission’s Man? asks the Hacker. I’ve been talking out loud without realizing it. A man on a mission I answer. At least he has a mission I think to myself.