6:50am. Standing at the bus stop. The temperature is just above zero (32°F for non-metric people). It’s a clear, crisp day and the sun is just about to emerge over the horizon.
6:57am. The number 5 trolley bus pulls up and I get on. After a few attempts to slip the ticket into the fare box, it finally beeps and lets me on. The bus is mostly empty at this hour and the cold air is tinged with the smell of vomit. I sit near the back door, avoiding the seat beside the blood-stained wall.
7:01am. As I check for e-mail on my cell phone, I idly wonder how the blood got there.
7:06am. A loud bang startles me from an e-mail that I’m reading. The trolley’s poles have come off the power lines, and an irritated driver stops the bus and steps out to reset them.
7:10am. At the next stop, a man in dirty clothes and a hacking cough sits next to the blood stain and proceeds to have a political debate with himself.
7:12am. I arrive at my stop. As I step off, I hesitate for a moment. Will I walk an extra two blocks to buy a McEvil McMuffin, or will I skip breakfast? I reject the evil and trudge towards the office.
I want my car back.