Bus

Red-brick houses rambled past. Unconsciously she stared at still-flickering street lamps, sharp and unnerving in the gentle morning light. Her thoughts strayed to other people, other places, as they so frequently did these days. Briefly reawakened upon catching sight of the strikingly unnatural flow of the canal waters, further interrupted by little mounds of rusted beer cans and gatherings of abandoned footballs, she found herself sinking slowly into a foreign conversation. Four seats in front a young child laughed; six seats behind and old man slept, the stale guinness swirling round his gut.

She gazed into a family home, three paintings on a wall; slices of blue sheet plastic blocked the adjacent scene. Her surroundings both distracted and reminded her. At the familiar sight of steel scaffolding she stirred, preparing herself she stepped out, her sole slapping the pavement.