Noise Of The City
The city around us slowly came to life, like an orchestra rising toward a crescendo—cars sped past on the far side of the lot, their noise fading beneath our collective focus on the bus. Rain kept its steady rhythm, tapping out a soft percussion on our roofs, blending with the murmur of engines and muffled conversations. But for me, one sound stood out above all—the low, persistent hum of the bus engine, still running, still waiting, and pulsing with unanswered questions.
Noise Of The City
Driver Returns
Suddenly, the bus driver reemerged, casually flicking his cigarette into a puddle before climbing back aboard. My nerves tightened as he sank into the driver’s seat, his indifference doing little to calm the growing tension. What kind of stops were these, and why did they feel so deliberately out of place? He had to know we were watching—dozens of eyes questioning his every move. But instead of offering reassurance, he remained unreadable. What was he planning now?
Driver Returns
