Tumbling Along

He popped his head in the kitchen and told his wife he’d be right back, just had to head into town for something. She didn’t look up from the bottle in front of her.

Outside the pharmacy, he fished enough change out of his pocket for the soda machine as the local bus pulled in, chrome covered in that dry dust of the road. He watched people get off, struggling with heavy suitcases and the sudden blast of heat.

He crossed the street and stood in front of the bus’ open door, wondering if he had any reason to stay.


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