Timetable on the Glass

I pushed through the mail slot and trotted two blocks down to the corner transit shelter. The metal bench was cold, but the printed route map framed in glass caught my eye. Gripping the aluminum frame with my fuzzy wire hands, I hauled myself onto the narrow metal ledge right beneath the schedule. Rows of street names and tiny departure times ran in crisp black grids across the glass. I hooked one foot over a screw bolt for balance, ran my arm across the bold harbor route lines, and traced every stop leading down to the water.