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You give him a wink and a nod, hope to get his attention and initiate a quiet swap or a decline from the elder, all smiling, peace reigning again. Mid-morning comes and the commuters go, replaced by the real bus-people, the ones who don’t have to catch the bus, choose to, help fill the day, go from A to B, and change the view momentarily. I am one of them, forever a mark on my forehead as the testament, wearing St. Vinnies’ hand-me-downs, faces stuck to the bus window, looking at the future approaching and then remembering it as the view goes past, then forgotten. I travel incognito, like the rest, to a temporary destination, seeing my life go back and forth, a cascade of memories, focussed until the bus stops, then peel away to alight and remember to breathe. Outside the air is thicker, you go and do a pretend errand, or do circuits of the park, knowing that the bus returns in two hours, so that’s how long you have, the length of your excursion, smile at the others, look at your watch, step, inhale, time,
