The doors open and close. People get on, people get off. All strangers, but all human. From my perch on the highest seat in the back I wait and watch. People watch.
The doors open and close. All kinds of people go through them. Hats, scarves, bags, worn shoes, shiny black leather. All these things tell different stories. Music to listen to, test notes to cram, coffee to need, news to catch up on. Waiting. Thinking. About what?
The doors open and close. People rush in as a horde and are sometimes lucky for an empty bus to themselves. The driver yells to move back, or is calm and robotic. You get a seat, or you have to stand. A pretty girl sits next to you, or an old man. You keep your transfer, or you lose it. You’re late, or you’re early. You never know; what is life?
The doors open and close. People get off without a backward glance. Different faces rush to different places. Where do they all go? What will they do? The doors open and close. Some shout across the bus to close friends, some whisper sweet nothings to closer friends. You sometimes see faces you recognize, and greet. Some are regulars, whom you acknowledge. But every now and then, there are newcomers, or you yourself becomes one, and there are strangers yet again, different faces, with different places to go.
