A bus ride

A giant of an individual once shared a seat on the bus with me. We sat in silence and watched the road pass by. I had the aisle seat. I have forgotten where I was going now yet I distinctly remember the smell of the bus, the bag lady sitting next to us, and the colors of the city I was in.
The person who was sitting next to me had brown eyes and hair. They seemed to be of working class origans I noticed the roughness of the hand that shook mine. It was much like mine. At a stoplight we watched the cops making there rounds and winced together when the car was uncerimoniausly introduced to the truck. "what is this about?" I remember thinking. What does it mean to be on this bus at this moment sitting next to this person. I wondered if the person with the brown hair and eyes would remember me after all doesn't everyone want to be remembered? Isn't that why we have children or strive for success in everything we do? Is our mortality also our motivation?
The bus moved on from that stoplight turned a corner and found it's way onto the snakey freeway. With the window open I could smell the smog mixed with the salty smell of the ocean. People all around me were adjusting getting ready for the long part of their journey. I felt sorry for the people who were standing hands firmly grasping for the cold metal rod hanging from the ceiling. There is a conversation that can happen amongst people even in silence. We speak in a movement, a smell, the texture of our skin. Whole encyclopidias can be written on the casual glance of one stranger to another. I adore these moments. I run them over in my mind long after they have happened.

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