Public Observance

 Oh shit a Gladys pulled up at the store across the street. Got all these pens in my bag that I don't remember putting there that barely work. The one pen I did put in there is mysteriously broken. It's brick and I wish I had my iPod for accompaniment. The police are near by, parked outside their baby substation as the 92 passes by. It is headed off to RI College. There is a jeep that passes by with red LED headlights like staring robot eyes. The kid at the bus stop with me is growing impatient. I just shiver and write.

I am on the bus now. The kid in his impatience missed the bus and was shitting around in the park behind us when it arrived. It is warm here and quiet. Mostly there are just a few women on the bus , including the driver. More passengers are on the bus and the traffic is making us slow. We arrive at the hospital and two veterans get on. The stop is at least useful.

I guess I could be writing a book at the moment but these thoughts seem just as useful right now. Noting the passing moment simply for what it is—acknowledging the life that does exist. The seats on these buses are not very comfortable—they keep warping my back. I have to be careful to sit straight and keep my shoulders aligned. We are almost in the city now and the bus, while well populated still has plenty of empty seats. I have yet to move my purse from its window seat to relinquish my comfy aisle seat to another.

There are quite a bit of cars by the mall—I hope they do not delay our trip around the corner by much. I would like to meet my mother promptly in my current tardiness. The cold from outside has permeated the bus with its chill. My legs are shivering. I am not looking forward to leaving the bus for more cold. Hopefully I am able to catch the next one soon. I missed the 40 at 5 pm (it leaves promptly on the nose of the hour). I shall call and see which one I may catch. Oh shit, it just occurred to me that I will be at the brandy new Kennedy Plaza for the first time. This changes things.

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There are a lot of passengers aboard the 78 but I am almost at my mother's job. She hasn't texted so I bet she's still working behind the counter. The front door of the bus is congested—such a contrasting mood from the 56. I should probably get off soon too.