WAITING FOR THE DOG

Like a place people only whispered about, a Greyhound Bus Depot. A poster child of the past. A small rectangular building with a temporary lot in front, emblazoned by the Greyhound logo over the door. The Dog beckoned. There was no party slaps or small children running about. These were solo travelers all weighted down it seemed with their struggles. You could read their faces often blank just staring. Only a few words were shared mostly by a few who ventured outside for a smoke. A gold cab sat waiting for a fare, the driver leaning against the station wall. Everyone waited for the call of next arriving bus, few as they were. You wondered about the name of the city they were all going to. It did not matter, the reason probably more important. Maybe a last chance at a future, a soul that needed healing, a scrap of life. Two attendants kept the place clean and issues fare tickets. The overhead florescent lights reflected off the floor and robbed any joy to be found. You wanted to reach out and help. But how do you touch another soul, so bare and wanting. So you sat with them for a while, showing respect and honoring the dignity left. You would walk out of the station, go on with your blessed life, embrace your loved ones and eat a fine meal. For them, it was not so sure…