The 442 was already standing room only by the time it arrived at my stop. I ended up halfway down the bus, sandwiched between an older portly man and a young girl who'd boarded with me. The bus made 4 more stops. Each time, more people got on than off. I barely moved from my spot and the area next to the driver was tight with bodies. The bus crawled through the bumper to bumper traffic, over Anzac Bridge. By the time we got to Darling Harbour, we were at a complete standstill. I kept glancing surreptitiously at the portly man's watch. We didn't move for 15 minutes. It was almost 6. I couldn't see the duck, but even the duck would have looked stupid at that moment. My feet started to go numb. I lifted one foot, rolling it round to get the blood pumping. Then the other. Then back to the first. Hot sunlight flooded in through the big glass windows and I could feel the front of my neck and chest starting to burn. The annoying chatter from the young ones at the back died down. People started nodding off, texting, calling to make excuses for being late. Then a very loud deep voice boomed out from the front of the bus.
What do you think he said?
To find out more about Small Stones and the 30 day mindful writing challenge, CLICK HERE.
Who gets to choose, me or someone else?
3 weeks ago