Short ride stories

I love to drive a car but there’s something magical about public transportation.

Every morning I take the same bus unless I’m running late, which doesn’t happen often, but I have had my share of “can’t get out of the house today” moments.

I know that every morning there will be a girl at the bus stop. If she’s there, I haven’t missed it. She’s a bit older than me, blond with very serious facial expression. I actually have seen her around also in the evening while shopping, so I’m pretty sure she lives somewhere near. We never greet each other, just stand there waiting.

Then there was a man in his late thirties in a bright blue sports jacket and black office shoes. His look gave a lot of mismatching  signals. I could never figure out who he was and why he was getting out on different stops during the week. He stopped taking the buss two weeks ago and has remained a mystery.

There’s a hipster who reads English books, although the drive is not that long. And it’s not even 9 am – how can you concentrate on reading? I barely keep my eyes open. I’m lucky if I feel awake when I get to the office.

There’s a young couple – madly in love with each other. A ginger who’s always snuggling and kissing her, trying to get as close as possible. They look cute, I often think to myself. And yet I wouldn’t want to be in their place, because it always feels like they see only each other, like in a bubble and that freaks me out a bit.

For the last week there has been an incredibly handsome man in his early thirties. Very sophisticated looking in his business suit. He’s always with an older lady, but they get out on a different stops. I can’t tell if that is his mom or a lover. Quite honestly I don’t know which answer I would like better. If he’s dating her then I’m way under his age limit, but if she’s his mom, then it’s quite confusing for his age to take together the bus daily..

Every morning I take the buss only for 7 minutes, but I get to see these little details. I make up stories and get attached to them. We’re all strangers, and yet we’re connected. We’re all a part of the morning ride. Sometimes I wonder what they think of me and if we ever will actually speak to each other?! Maybe the magic is in the fact that we’re not expected to ever go beyond this fragile nonverbal communication. In the century of over sharing, I appreciate moments of being a stranger without any expectations to say or do anything.

Even if it’s just a short ride. It’s always quite special.

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