Third Stop on Spring

Jordan waited there every morning around the same time. It was about a quarter till seven am and the sun was rising. The sky was a beautiful mix of blood red and pink that captured the eerie beauty of that late summer morning. The bus stop was the third on the northbound side of Spring Street, right in front of the Subway restaurant chain.

There was roadwork being done across the street, in front of the Salvation Army, and the jackhammer going into the road sends vibrations all through his body as he stood and wait. The sound was like a thousand panes of glass shattering in a torrent of bullets. This sound was broken only by the few cars rolling down the street and the roar of the engines of bikers out for an early morning ride.

A street sweeper was coming down the street, tossing tiny rocks at the vacant people walking around or waiting for the bus, that is always five minutes late, like him. It also tossed up smells of old motor oil and gasoline when the stream of water hit the streets.

He noticed things he had never noticed before. The cement around the bus stop had little cracks from the years of wear. The cracks had little bursts of grass shooting out from them. The birds had a different sound. Their beautiful songs had an apathetic tinge to them.

As the bus finally rolled down the street, stopping at the other two stops before his, Jordan had a look of wonder and puzzlement on his face. What kind of reality was this?