1L Ride

Entering the vehicle, I escape the cold wind and outside chill and enter heated and stuffy air. Tripping up the steps, I slide my ID through the card reader, and the driver says, “Thank you.” With me sitting on the plush seats and leaning against the hard windows, the bus rolls along Congress. This bus is different from the normal metro buses. This bus has very soft seats with taller backs, and it seems newer. There is a little more leg room. I curl up on the seat and observe. In front, on top, near the ceiling, the screen flashes the time and destination. Many smells float along in the air: from the seats, the floor, trash, and the BO of the people on the bus, and that left behind from former passengers. There is a constant whirring of the engine and the wheels against the road. There is no sound from inside the bus except for the occasion "ding" to announce a stop has been requested and a man's voice announcing the next major stop. The doors open to let certain passengers off and let new ones on. A wave of cigarette stink roles by. One of the new passengers recognizes the driver. Conversation between the two punctuates the silence. Apparently, the driver used to drive a different route that the passenger used to take with his wife and three kids. He is now divorced, and the ex-wife has moved to California. The bus turns onto 11th and then onto Lavaca. The conversation continues as the bus rolls along. The constant rocking and jiggling of the bus induces me to sleep but also causes the beginning of a headache, evidence of my car sickness. With my eyes closed, trying to ignore the discomfort, I wait for my stop. One last stop, one last "ding" to announce a stop requested, and the bus pulls to a stop, and I take my leave, yelling, “Thank you,” over my shoulder.