Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Where To?

Does anyone notice their own stride? Suddenly the feel of the sidewalk moving as steps became familiar to the thought process of walking. Same route, same surroundings, only different. Unseasonably cool and damp, not aligned to correspond with the calendar page. Not uncomfortable, but yet still a distance to the destination. Familiar but actually unnoticed on a normal routine, the sound of brakes interrupted the steady gait. Bus Stop. The once bright reflective lettering was now weather beaten by the tick tock of time and elements.

The swoosh of the opening doors allowed warm dry air to spill forward in a beckoning invitation. Aching knees stepped forward with little effort. The fluorescent glare enhanced the uplifting atmosphere as passengers danced in their intertwined conversations. The welcome sight of an empty seat ..

so what do you think is next?  You are invited to "comment" what happens next,,reckon?


  1. I reckon the new arrival gives the occupant beside the empty seat a good looking over--in a very discrete way, of course--if only to size them up for conversation. Will they chat pleasantly about the weather, or might that glint in the eye indicate the possibility of pondering something deeper...I think I know which way it will go...

  2. You will arrive at your destination.

    If your path becomes boring, take another path.

  3. In my experience something very small would happen, someone would drop a bag and someone's eye would bulge but their hand wouldn't help. Mine would. I'd notice the smell of the person I helped, the colour of their skin, the pigment, the break of the surface of the skin. Mine like his like hers. So many lines. A smile. They were warm. I would notice their heat. I would imagine their life. I would want to touch them. But I would not. Another smile. And then the tug boat pull of the bus. And off. All of us alone once again.


  4. was a tempting invitation to rest. But the woman stepped back from the bus and it left in a huff of smoke belching back in her face. In spite of her knees, she was enjoying the air and the walking, and the thought of the family that waited kept her company as she turned and softly made her way down the street. And she thought of times when we take buses, but then we would miss the dance with the sidewalk, and the cadence and rhythm of our own feet, going there, over there, under her own power...at least one more time..then she'd see.

  5. An empty seat next to a toothless, grinning old man holding a paper bag wrapped tightly around what is obviously a liquor bottle.

  6. The welcome sight of an empty seat always relieved the anxiety of having to stand, working for balance. I sat beside a young man. It was hard to determine age, for there was height, and hair...lots of hair...but the skin was transluscent, free of any stubble, and the eyes were wide in wonder. Hands were clasped tightly in his lap and the left sneaker tapped a steady rhythm against the filthy undercarriage of his seat. I eased gingerly into the seat with a loud creak and groan from failing joints, just as...

  7. The welcome sight on an empty seat pushes you to quicken your pace before the bus' next jolt. Suddenly, you feel a slight tap against your calf. Looking down, you notice a burgundy cane blocking your path. A familiar, gruff voice shakes you out of this reality and back to the chaos of a jungle 1,000 miles away. "I never stopped looking for you. I've been watching you each morning for a month."