The Commute is Different on a Bike
I speed past him every morning. He’s waiting for the Eastbound 30 bus at the corner of Redwood and 17th South. He’s usually smoking. He’s always slouching. The curve of his back is a sharp 60° angle right below his shoulder blades.
He was wearing a black t-shirt this morning and he glanced at me as I whizzed by. His thin frame leaned over his thighs. He was taking a drag of his cigarette and I could smell smoke as far as the train tracks.
I’ve never seen him smile.