A tourist in shining new hat with bill not quite bent to form runs along the sidewalk towards a city bus stationary and waiting. He claps desperately to the lens of his well-appointed camera and wraps a thumb around the strap hanging from his neck in efforts to keep it from hammering his chest. His sun-burnt face aches at the thought of his pale legs defrocked of their accustomed trousers now sporting khaki shorts of unfamiliar repute; they sweat greatly soaking his black calve-socks to the penny loafers below.
Pain is overt – this tourist is unaccustomed to the art and endeavor of running in any direction.
He lurches at the closing stage and slows at the bus’s door. His waxy face delights in the conditioned air, cool and inviting. Bent over facing the driver with one hand on his knee he gestures with the opposite in inquiry to the highway behind the parked bus...
His head drops.
He takes hold of his breathing.
He straightens.
He secures his camera to his side and places a hand on his hip allowing his head to dip backwards and eyebrows to rise in unison.
As the city bus clears and eases into the noonday traffic the tourist is left standing on the walkway with sun-burnt face and bill of his shining new hat pointed in vow to the direction opposite of the bus’s route.
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