Transport

Tonight was one of those bus rides that makes me think that maybe it would be a good idea to have a second car.

When I left work, the sky was positively menacing, and worse to the west, which was the direction I was heading. The humidity was so heavy, it almost felt like breathing under water. Just as I got to the bus stop, big, fat drops started to fall from the sky. By the time I got to my transfer spot, it was a deluge. I managed to stay dry enough until my bus came. When it came, however, the bus was over census with damp, warm people, positively packed to the front doors. Added to the crush of bodies, was the rain of Biblical proportions, necessitating closed windows, lest we passengers become yet damper. A constant unharmonic din, from the ineffective fan struggling valiantly against the humidity, sounding much like a truck’s horn when the drunken redneck falls asleep with his head on the steering wheel, whined its unsuccessful attempt to keep the windshield free of condensation.

It was only by some miracle that I was able to identify landmarks through the steamed up windows in time to ring the bell for my stop. But when I stepped off, into a puddle, no less, the sound of the rain pounding on my hood was, relatively, soothing music. Suddenly, I could breathe. The bus-noises were squelched abruptly as the doors closed, and once I had walked free of the gust of oily diesel smoke belched from the bus, the rain smelled clean. It was cool, refreshing, cleansing. It was quiet, except for the occasional drain pipe. No one was out walking, few cars, just me.

By the time I got home i was soaked to the skin, but T had a scotch waiting for me and supper on the table. The kids were in great moods. What more could a girl want?

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About therapeuticrambling

I am a wife, a mom, a nurse, a writer. I enjoy laughing.
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