The Morning Wait

I never took the school bus as a kid, i was a walker. Here in Arequipa, for the first time in my life, i go to the corner outside my house to wait for the bus. Van, actually. It is contracted by ACI (the language school) to pick up those of us from the group who live on this side of town.

In the mornings, after throwing back a few cups of café and and with half an egg sandwhich still in my hand i step out to the corner. I take up my customary position leaning against the wall and bask in the sunlight. The sun, which is always strong and always shining here, has been up for an hour and a half or so and is well above the yellow and red store front across the street.

Each morning certain comings and goings proceed in a routine established long before i arrived. The police foot patrol comes onto the street a block away and walks past. "Buenos dias." Today there are two. A guy dressed in punk with long hair and ripped up jeans passes but the earbuds seem to block me out of his world. School kids pass, the boys in their dark pants, the girls in skirts. They are all sport green sweatervests trimmed in red and complimented with a red clip on tie. They all stare or giggle.

I´ve forgotten my pill. I run back in to find my ticket to solid poop and when i return a dog has taken my spot. He is medium sized and his white (or is it grey) fur is matted into an impenitrable mess. As i approach he looks up sullenly. "Alright, fine, i´ll leave," his dull eyes seem to say. He lifts his leg "my corner" and trots off.

HONK A HONK HONK, HONK HONK! I can hear Rosita coming three blocks away. Sure enough, here she is screeching up in her yellow van, cropped pink hair bouncing over the speed bumps.

Here we go.