On the way home from school today, exhausted beyond belief and wallowing in the annals of L.A. public transportation, I tried to drown out the noise (and the urge to sleep or scream) with a podcast.
In the split second I glanced down to adjust the volume, the entire right side of the bus jumped the curb and propelled us roughly toward the left side. The jolt was not strong enough to send people flying, but people shouted out, cursing collectively, stretching out arms and grabbing hold of the seats in front of them or else clutching their belongings. The bus came to a halt in front of its regular stop, and it dawned on the crowd what had just happened.
"Ohh noo! My neck!" someone joked, and soon the passengers were roaring with laughter.
The next stop was mine, and I left feeling like I'd brushed against something precious. What was only a moment before a rank and stuffy metal box filled with tired, hungry, silent people had turned into a little piece of humanity. I prepared to board my second bus, without the earbuds in this time. Who knows what I might miss.
Little things.
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