Waiting for the Route

Leaving the bicycle racks behind, I trotted right down the avenue toward a glass-paneled bus shelter. The concrete bench was empty, so I clambered up and wedged myself flat between the back slats. Right beside me, an electronic transit display panel hung from the roof, counting down arrival times with a sharp, rhythmic ping every time the digits shifted! I stretched my neck out toward the glowing screen, waiting for the next pulse. Ping! The sharp digital beat bounced off the clean glass walls, cutting clean through the street air. I tilted back against the chilly glass and let every click set the tempo.