Iona Beaudry

Traces of Strangers

A bus rolled up to the stop. 12 SANDY BLVD to PARKROSE, not hers. Normally she waited standing. As the back exit door opened, the people inside began to drop out onto the curb at her feet. She tucked her crossed legs out of the way and regretted spontaneously choosing to sit in the little metal chair. Both doors closed and some other switch or lever in the drivers compartment made the bus let out a pressurized shriek.