Fiction: Sidewalk Stories

Sidewalk Stories

The Bus Stop

Twenty minutes passed since Emily first arrived at the bus stop.  The rain, merely a drizzle upon her arrival, now came down in a steady stream and beat on the clear, plastic roof.  She shivered, sniffed, and stared down the road in the hopes of mentally willing the bus to appear.  Across the street, the bus for the opposite route stopped, and Emily glared.

Fiction: Step Three

All great nights end with Chinese food. At least that’s what I heard once, from a college guy with beer on his breath and clutching a plastic bag bearing a yellow smiley face. I still don’t know why he chose to tell me this—I’d never seen the kid before in my life and all I was trying to do was get home from work—but the phrase really stuck with me. It was like some archaic, secret wisdom had been passed on to me by a mystical sprite in the form of some drunk kid I didn’t know who was there one moment and pissing in the street the next. It was like I needed to hear that—like it would be important somewhere down the line—and that I’d been chosen to hear such wisdom not by chance, but fate. Andrea thinks I’m insane.