Bus

The bus passes by my stop, I am on the other side of the street. It occurs to me that I could still flag it down, but I hesitate. I am unable to bring myself to do that sort of thing; who am I to make all the other passengers on that bus wait for me just because I didn't get to my stop on time? I see the bus driver's head turn towards me, making brief eye contact, followed by a gesture with his index finger pointing downward asking me if this was my stop. I sheepishly nod my head in response to his gesture. He pulls over at the side of the road just past the intersection. I run across two crosswalks, leaning to the left with the weight of my bag, fishing my bus pass out of my shirt pocket, and leap from the curb into the bus. I look up at the driver and say "thanks".