Here: Just passing through

Nearly every weekday morning, I wait in a transit mall in LA County. The wait lasts about 20 minutes, offering time to finish my morning coffee and, beginning today, write for this blog.

Buses come and go. Cars mostly come, stay a while, and go. People come from all over Southern California, going from one point of the compass to another. They travel to work, school, home, store, and who knows where. They are cheerful, irritated, tire, talkative, boisterous, and nearly immobile. Some are regulars: same bus, same drive, same riders. some are single shot commuters, often lost and asking questions. Some smell, whether of bathed-in perfume or things impolite to mention. Some share life, while others remain closed and private. Some stare like zombies, straight ahead, a bit creepy, likely bored or asleep.

We are all just passing through, at various frequencies and for sundry purposes. None of us lives here, though I suspect a few come close. “Here” is a multi-directional intersection, where life touches life, whether deeply or barely.