The bus jolts along, rocking in time to the potholes.  Darkness surrounds it – melting over the top, oozing down windows, sliding onto the road where it freezes into a cracked shell.  Bodies fall into the seats, the floor, each other, cups grasped tightly in their slick hands.  Jostled figures trap pounding music, bass bouncing back and forth until anonymous hands open a window, releasing notes to the rush of air.  Two quiet figures huddle in the back, close then far then close again, moving in time to the potholes.  The slight one hints in the murky dark, timid hands flit closer then fall to her lap.  The wary one waits, patiently, until he knows he can.  They sway, they sway…

–  ljg 1990