Waiting for the Bus
3-19-06
I’m sitting on a cold, hard, wooden bench being sprinkled with hesitant droplets of rain. The wind brushes my hair across my face, and the page dances with the wind below my pen. A bus pulls up our lane, stops, and pulls away, still empty. Fifty meters behind me, a train pulls into the station, and pulls away a few seconds later, full. It’s all one endless routine.
Above me, an ominous black cloud swirls over the swaying trees. Some of the dead leaves still clinging to the sleeping branches finally let go and flutter to the ground. Sudden gusts seem to make the trees bow to all the bus riders patiently waiting for their buses.
Before me, sits proudly a community performance hall; backed by that dangerous black cloud. As the wind picks up and dies down over and over again, the German colors—displayed proudly at the hall’s entrance— dance and sleep, dance and sleep. Just as the building does each day. It wakes at night, briefly, and then sleeps during the day.
To my right is an affronting gray building; a hotel boasting the French and British flags. In this little town, its contrast against everything else here is shocking. But at the same time, it seems to fade into the background and is forgotten.
Behind me, richly clad teenage girls half-mindedly smoke their cigarettes as they wait for another bus. Just next to them, an elderly lady stands cautiously under a poncho and plastic hat. And next to that lady stands a middle aged man silently bobbing his head to the music emitting from his iPod headphones in his ears. They are all connected briefly as they wait for this one bus, yet they live such separate lives that they don’t even notice each other.
No one seems to want to stay in this place, the Bahnhof, the train station. There seems to be an air that speaks of hurry and departure. Luckily, our bus pulls up our lane and stops right in front of my cold, hard, wet bench. I clamber to gather my papers, and climb aboard.
That makes me want to go back to Germany quite badly. It's good description, and that's what the assignment was.
I’m sitting on a cold, hard, wooden bench being sprinkled with hesitant droplets of rain. The wind brushes my hair across my face, and the page dances with the wind below my pen. A bus pulls up our lane, stops, and pulls away, still empty. Fifty meters behind me, a train pulls into the station, and pulls away a few seconds later, full. It’s all one endless routine.
Above me, an ominous black cloud swirls over the swaying trees. Some of the dead leaves still clinging to the sleeping branches finally let go and flutter to the ground. Sudden gusts seem to make the trees bow to all the bus riders patiently waiting for their buses.
Before me, sits proudly a community performance hall; backed by that dangerous black cloud. As the wind picks up and dies down over and over again, the German colors—displayed proudly at the hall’s entrance— dance and sleep, dance and sleep. Just as the building does each day. It wakes at night, briefly, and then sleeps during the day.
To my right is an affronting gray building; a hotel boasting the French and British flags. In this little town, its contrast against everything else here is shocking. But at the same time, it seems to fade into the background and is forgotten.
Behind me, richly clad teenage girls half-mindedly smoke their cigarettes as they wait for another bus. Just next to them, an elderly lady stands cautiously under a poncho and plastic hat. And next to that lady stands a middle aged man silently bobbing his head to the music emitting from his iPod headphones in his ears. They are all connected briefly as they wait for this one bus, yet they live such separate lives that they don’t even notice each other.
No one seems to want to stay in this place, the Bahnhof, the train station. There seems to be an air that speaks of hurry and departure. Luckily, our bus pulls up our lane and stops right in front of my cold, hard, wet bench. I clamber to gather my papers, and climb aboard.
That makes me want to go back to Germany quite badly. It's good description, and that's what the assignment was.
posted by Andy | 6:06 PM
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