Humor Magazine

A Quiet Moment, In the Dark

By Pearl
Sheesh!  What's with all the bus posts lately?!  I really gotta get out more...

I am a full block away from the stop when the bus zips by.
Two minutes early than it should.
In the snow-bright darkness of a winter’s morning, it hardly seems fair.  I stop, blink dully in the direction of its retreating taillights, a shallowly breathing statue, watch as the bus heads toward the light, watch as it turns and disappears.
Twenty minutes until the next one. 
I take a step back toward the house.
I take another step.
My corduroys are whispering what can only be considered obscene comments about the length of winter, of my proclivity toward foodstuffs covered with gravy, about short, somewhat pear-shaped women and the inevitability of the next size up in pants.
Corduroys:  fashion’s little snipers.
I turn back toward the beginning of my work day, head toward Central.
The 17’s going to show up two minutes early?  Pfft.
I’ll take the Number 10.
Frankly, I love the 10.  There’s something refreshing about a bus where children ride in grocery carts, groceries ride in strollers, and an 82-year-old woman regularly stands, announces her age, and then does a quick step ball change while shouting “You’re only as old as you feel!”
Yes.  The 10 is where I belong. 
It’s roughly a mile walk – all uphill, of course; and by the time I arrive at the top of the hill, I am warm, no small thing in Minneapolis in December.
Thank you, thighs.
And the 10 arrives moments later, and I step up and into the crowded bus.

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