“Waiting for a Greyhound”
Micro Flash Fiction
by C.J. Heck
In the early morning hours of a rainy Baltimore Monday, a nameless lady sits on a bench in the Greyhound Bus Station.
Like me, she waits for a bus. Unlike me, she wears a long red coat on a warm morning, hat pulled down to cover a swelling monument of love.
Her handbag gripped two-fisted leaves only the sleeves of her coat to swipe at the sadness. I’m sorry for the intrusion, but can’t help wondering.
How does so much misery share the dirty bench? What happened in her world to make her pack her life in a suitcase, come here, and wait for a bus?
It must be a man --only a real ass gives a lady a shiner. Who could blame her for leaving? Maybe wasting minutes feels better here, crying, waiting for a Greyhound with her suitcase between her legs, instead of him.
Yesterday's hopes and tomorrow's dreams all die just as fast in a one-way bus ticket and anywhere is a better place than where she was.
Greyhounds might be late, but they don't punch or yell ...
Poet/Writer/Author of 5 books.
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So much emotion packed into this short piece of writing. Wow.✨
Harry Chapin: "Take a Greyhound/it's a dog of a way to get around."