An acoustic guitar slung across his back glistened with what face it had left. Its pick guard was missing and the strings were corroding. He wore five shades of black, as if a timeline of when he purchased his clothing. Facial hair long enough it itch, but short enough to know it wasn’t intentional. He seemed casual, in that way where you know he hasn’t had a guitar strap pop off, or possibly he had, and subsequently bought a higher quality strap.
The old lady at the bus stop bench quickly scowled and gave him a once over, though he didn’t notice. He was standing right at the edge of the bus stop’s metal awning, avoiding most of the rain while starring wistfully at the abandoned and deteriorating warehouse across the five lane roadway. Rental fences poorly placed with gaps wide enough for the homeless and the dogs. Broken glass littered its garage bays and grass grew tall from cracked concrete, vibrant green against the wet dark stone.
The bus was scheduled to arrive at 5:15. He arrived at 5:10. It was now 5:24. The next bus was at 5:45. It was likely that the previous bus was early, but it was also possible the bus was late. There was no real way to tell, and he wasn’t going to ask the grumpy old witch how long she was there and if they were even waiting for the same bus. If he had already started walking when he got to the stop he could have already been where he needed to be to transfer to the other bus, but with the rain and his pride, he kept waiting.
Waiting for a bus can be a frustrating experience. One has to be both constantly alert for the possibility of the busses arrival, yet also have a complete lack of expectation that the bus will ever even arrive. It is a limbo state of disappointment and stress. A time so occupied with nothing one can barely do anything at all. How does one spend a possible five to twenty minutes without access to focus? One could read a book or look at their phone, but one might get sucked in. One could listen to music but how do you keep an ear out for the bus or a possible schizophrenic homeless man? You could stare off down the road, but a watched bus never shows. The only way he figured out how to quell the anxiety of waiting for the bus was to stare out into space.
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Unbeknownst to him, he basically reinvented meditation and mindfulness. Once he learned to just zone out he started seeing all the benefits a meditative practice brings. Lower blood pressure, managed stress, more energy, less internal conflict, an ability to calmly deal with others. If he could ever afford a car, it would ruin his life.
On this day, he was thinking about how many abandoned industrial buildings always seem to have a sign out front with a high quality rendering of what the buildings once was, probably developed by some architect intern with access to CAD through their school’s subscription. He thought it was funny because the actual building was always right next to the sign. If the person ever looked at the property they would see that it isn’t anything like the sign. But he knew that they knew that everyone knew that the sign was a lie, but someone, somewhere mandated they make the sign like that and everyone had to agree to be in on the lie. Was it just to give the intern something to do or maybe it was so some purchaser from another state or country would just buy it on speculation, never having seen the building. Either way, he giggled every time he saw one, and for some reason, there was always one across the street from a bus stop.
And with that, he was snapped out of his trance as the route 46 pulled up.