A Moment of Haze
A Moment of Haze As I walk into the bus I notice an atmosphere of trivial, intangible feeling. I walk down the aisle to the last seat to the right. I put my bag down on the right of me to be closer to the wall. As I sit there silently, watching the people and only seeing the back of their heads. More people climb into the bus, looking for a seat out of the way so they will not to be bothered by anyone. I look around and notice an aged bus, yellow strips removed from the back; they hung from the ceiling to the chairs.