The Honest Truth

Monday Morning.
On the bus.
Violent rain outside.
Kind that attacks you sideways and never lets up.
Guy sitting across from me is decked out in bright yellow rain gear with reflective tape.
Must be a crossing guard.
Old, big man.
Looks like he wants conversation.
Next stop.
Another old man wearing yellow slickers comes on, sits beside the crossing guard.
This man is shorter.
Not so big.
The men greet each other by name.
“You should be at home pouring over a cup of coffee,” says the big man to small one.
His voice lacks volume control.
They banter, then short man turns to young lady beside him.
“How’re you doing dear?”
“Okay,” she says, shyly.
I pull the stop and get off the bus.
“Thank you,” I say.
The driver says “Uh-huh.”
Off the bus.
Monday morning.