Bus stop…

The smell of petrol fumes in the air masked my aftershave. The time was quarter passed two in the afternoon.

Over on the other side of the road was another bus stop. Cars, bikes and motorcycles were continuously zooming passed and even though I had been waiting for nearly half an hour now, it appeared that any bus was yet to come.

After all it was a Sunday.

The creeping threat of rain and the cold wind kept me in a petulant suspense.

The (dare I say) younger of the two ladies on the other side of the road kept standing up and sitting down as if she was playing a rather stagnant game of musical chairs. And no matter how many times she stood up and looked to the right again she could not summon the bus anymore quickly.

The older girl seemed keen to chat to her but she was seemingly and deliberately sat further down the stop as to avoid all the small talk and chitter chatter.

To be honest I felt sympathetic towards the older girl as she must have been lonely. Perhaps her husband had died. I pondered on this and soon began to question the solidarity of my own mortality.

I was soon distracted as my bus had finally arrived. I stood up and stuck out my hand. I was very much looking forwards to a cup off hot coffee and some chocolate biscuits.

After all there is no place like home…

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