City Bus Driver

The doors were already closed. The clock said go. One knock, one spilled can, and a decision that could’ve tipped the night either way. Tonight’s story has a heartbeat. You can feel it if you listen close enough. I was sitting at the terminus, engine murmuring, heaters fighting the cold, the clock dragging its heels. Ten full minutes of waiting. Ten minutes where the city held its breath. Only one punter boarded early. Everyone else stayed hidden, behind curtains, inside doorways, folded into the night. I shut the doors. Checked my watch. That moment. The one where you’re mentally gone already. Then, movement. A cigarette came flying out of the darkness first. Not casually discarded. Flicked. A brief orange flare, then silence as it died in the gutter. A second later the owner materialised, peeling out of the shadows like they’d been summoned by it. Hood up. Head down. Knock. Sharp. On the glass of the front door. I looked at the watch again. I was there. That exact second where you co...