Wednesday, April 18, 2012


Belmont. Barry. Wellington. George.
She hears the automated voice in her head a
millisecond before the bus' PA system
announces each stop, echoing her thoughts.
When a crowd of people get on,
she knows they've reached Palmer. Blue Line Transfer.
Her routine is so routine it's uncomfortable, like an armchair so worn-in the padding no longer pads.
It disgusts and soothes her, going through these motions every day.
She hates change, but in this moment craves it. Suddenly she hears her voice before the bus has made it to the next stop:
"Can you let me out here?"

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