The Bus Ride Lesson4 Assignment 1

The Bus Ride

The silver and gray bus was on time as usual at 10:52 this sunny morning. I slide my dollar bill into the machine and the red led switched to green. The oversized driver grunted an acknowledgement as I walked up the aisle to find my seat. The bus was more crowded than usual.
I sat two seats forward of the rear bench seat, almost across from the folding doors of the rear exit. The steady roar of the engine was like the waves of the ocean, rising to a crest and then suddenly falling as the bus slowed for another passenger to board or depart.
I sat one blue hard plastic seat forward of an adolescent oriental girl. She was encased in a black hoodie, that had the wires of an IPOD snaking their way out of it into the front pocket. She was anonymous behind her black sunglasses, with a face that was as frozen as the chrome grab rail next to her. I could barely hear the quick static cadence of her music.
Towards the front of the crowed, full sized bus, a group of traditionally dressed African immigrants was seated. The three women were dressed in bright colors of varying primary and secondary pallets. Bright reds, yellows, and greens, offset the grayness of the bus’s interior and peeling, pasted over advertising headers. The African men and male children contrasted in their drab, clean pressed, browns and black. The texture of their clothing offset male from female as well. The women’s were of light fabrics while the men were heavier and woolen in appearance. Their quiet dialog, across the aisle and seats, was rhythmic, while being unintelligible to me. Their dark skins were in sharp contrast to their frequent smiles as the talked. They all possessed a thinness of frame, as well as a subtle respectful mannerism, not usually seen in our native citizens Wear lines and soft sadness rested on the faces and eyes of the elders, still in evidence through their smiles.
A man of obvious Mid-Eastern descent, sat across the aisle. His short dark hair, perfectly combed and his moustache tightly groomed. His passive tension, closely wrapped him like his shinny black leather jacket, hard pressed blue jean pants, and designer leather shoes, both with some fashion motif in mind. He never smiled or acknowledged any of his fellow riders, even when greeted. He appeared content to be aloof and superior to his present environment. There was a chilliness that permeated his presence much like the air on this Autumn day.
The three other Americans onboard consisted of a vastly overweight woman that obviously had fallen on some hard times. She had a look of quiet desperation and hopelessness about her dressed in the now to small pink sweat suit. The American males were gray hair and bearded. One dressed in a worn down black leather jacket and Levis while the other sitting next to him was clothed entirely in denim. Both had the look often seen in the Vietnam veteran behind their eyes. Three all sat silently, weighted with worlds of troubles pressing down on their stooped shoulders.