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Bus Story: Riders on the Stream

March 16, 2017

It’s difficult to see him. No, that isn’t quite right. He’s hard to see. When he first stepped aboard, there was something odd about the way he moved. It was robotic, in a herky-jerky sort of way. When he asked the driver a question, I could not make heads or tails of the language he was speaking; and neither could the driver. The man, slight of build and dressed in a light grey suit, shook his head, muttered, and tapped his wristwatch. He sighed and said, “Backwards. Sorry.” And then asked the driver about routes and fares. Once he was in a seat, I kept hearing an odd sound from his direction, like the high pitched whine of a mosquito. And when I looked at him, I couldn’t get him in focus. I thought my glasses were smudged, but no, he was blurry. All of him. Except his shiny, bronze colored wristwatch. And then, suddenly, everyone’s ears on the bus popped, like we’d just changed altitude. And the whine sound was gone. When I looked back to the man in the grey suit, he was gone and a woman in a tan coat and a lavender knit cap was in his seat. As if she’d always been there.

It seems that commuting through time appears to be just as rife with challenges as other modes of transport.


From → Bus Stories

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