Tales From The Bus Stop


The wet heat spackled the bus stop squatters with sweat. She sat in the power chair watching two clouds reach out to each other in the broad blue sky above the buildings. The clouds curled towards each other as if to try to make love in the almost barely present huffs of air and far above a twister formed and unformed in the sunshine. Although she was mostly deaf as deaf goes in one who once heard birds and orchestras and sang arias with her now dead father…

she shook her head.

There was an odd tinkle in the clear blue as the clouds tried so hard to impress one another with dancing shapes of T-Rex skeletons and eagles faces and the angelic music pelted down softly in her one good ear. It was a sound that was barely there. Surely it was angels?

She smiled at nothing and looked around from behind the dark UV lenses.

There was a boy with a cardboard sign and a beat up portable keyboard that sat in his lap. Although people who were beggars did not attempt to look nice this boy did look nice. He wore a white, pressed shirt and one fake rhinestone in his ear. His lips moved softly and his close-cropped black hair had stars shaven in it. A ring of homeless people sat around him while he played and expected nothing from those who had nothing. He opened his eyes, dark and dancing like the clouds, and smiled at the audience before the number 38 that went downtown swept them away in a whoosh of loud rumble…

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