getting lost. There were also irregular regulars like the ever-tardy church-goer, again running to catch the bus this morning. She was followed by a young man nonchalantly doing a last puff of his 'cigarette' across from the casino, taking his sweet time to board. All along, a man in the back slept through the first two trips, once perking up to ask "Did we pass Pompano?" - we had.
It was laundry day for the day laborers, some marching, some cycling along the sidewalk from Coral Springs to Pompano with enormous stuffed black plastic garbage bags slung over their shoulders, others performing a balancing miracle with overflowing hampers on their shoulders.
At the west end an unlocked bicycle stood at a bus stop unattended. Painted Publix green, I predicted it wouldn't be there for long.
On the edge of an industrial zone at Powerline stood a lone pop up tent, covering a table laden with jars of golden honey. Honey comes dark and honey comes light, but it's all sweet.
A half-pint crowd boarded at Riverside, presided over by the self-described late bloomer who became a father late in life. He's close behind his four little ones, all well-behaved and curious about the pull cords, lights, signs, and other innards of the bus.
On my final trip I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw the lone bike still standing at the bus stop, as if invisible to the world. It defied all logic that no one had snatched it by then, or the owner retrieved it. The surreal moment was fraught with the thought that this was how the world could be. Reality would return soon enough, for now I would enjoy the sweetness.