No. 18 - Endless Source of Amusement

There were a few people waiting for the No. 18 when I got to the bus stop. A middle-aged woman turned to me and said "Good Morning!" The sun was shining in my face so I couldn't see her properly. I replied a good morning. She then turned to look at me better. She was middle-aged, with fine white hair growing on her chin, a sloppy mouth, scraggly red hair and plump. She had a walkman in her ears, battered sneakers and a cloth purse hanging from her shoulders.

"I'm going to College!" she slurred.

"oh! That's nice," I replied, taking a step back.

I heard a voice from behind me say "you can't get in the buses." It was an old black man, with thick glasses, sitting on the bench.

"It's always like that in the mornings," I explained.

"They drive by without stopping."

By this time, Walkman Woman was talking to a concerned-looking youth. I knowingly smiled at him from behind her back and he tried to hide his smile. She then sat down on the bench by the black man.

A No.18 drove by and didn't even stop.

"They should put more buses to run this route," I said to the old man.

"They won't let you get in the bus," Walkman Woman butted in.

Soon afterwards, another bus appeared. I squeezed my way inside the last door (the No. 18 bus is one of those long, worm-like buses, with three doors.) The old man came up to the door, tentatively put a foot inside, then stepped out.

"Maybe the next bus will be empty," he said, looking at the incoming traffic.

"Come in. There's space here," I said, pointing at a place beside me. He looked so frail and doubtful. The bus doors closed and, as we moved away, I saw Walkman Woman looking at me with a mysterious smile on her face.