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The Last Bus on Marrow Street
dramaEveryone6 contributors · 2 paragraphs deep
Thirty-one winters I've driven the 9:40 down Marrow Street. Tonight's my first of seven last nights. The city's killing this route. Killing the job. Sleet hammers the windshield. At Elm and Third, I see her—old woman in a red coat, running, hand out. I'm already past her. She stands there soaked, watching the bus fade into dark.
I keep driving. Just another shift. One of seven. She's fine. Probably. The route won't change. My route. Sleet gets heavier. Like it's chasing the bus.
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Mrs. Chen gets on at Fifth and Park. Thirty years on this route, like me. She sits down wet. 'You see a woman? Red coat? Around Elm?' My hands tighten. 'No. Why?' She doesn't answer.
SV
Sasha Volkov
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