Walking to the Bus

I flung my wrist up and the time appeared in purple text on my black Apple Watch.

7:55.

I got this, I said to myself as I swung my well-worn orange and gray messenger bag over my head. The strap fell into place on my shoulder as I grabbed my keys and headed out the door. My bus would arrive in eleven minutes and I had to hustle my way down several city blocks.

I pulled my phone out of my coat pocket, headphones already in my ears and thumbed through Spotify as I walked down the hallway towards the elevator in the building where I live. I chose something acoustic, as I usually do, and pulled my wool hat onto my head before busting through the doors into the winter air.

I smiled as I made my way through the morning city chaos. Crisp air filled my lungs and my heart rate accelerated slightly as I upped my pace. Every step was familiar. The same pair of broken black ear buds were smashed into the asphalt of the parking lot I cut through as I rounded the corner to my bus stop.

I could see the double-length metro transit bus approaching just moments after I reached the corner. I let out a sigh of releif and pulled my bus pass out of my pocket, finally able to relax.

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