Soggy Bus Rides

I wrote this a of couple weeks ago, when Hurricane Ike effects washed down the city, but I wanted to post it (and just for the record, today is a gorgeous Saturday):

After work today, I squeezed from the wet streets into the express bus that would carry me from downtown to home. Soggy bodies circulated in and out, and rain slipped in through the creases in the ceiling above the aisle. I suppressed a devilish smirk as the people filtered in and out and renegade raindrops splashed atop their heads. I’d watch their reactions to the dirty droplets, the recognition that they were inside but it was still raining, and their futile attempts to dodge the drops in the crowded aisles. It wasn’t so much that I was suppressing laughter at their misfortune (small misfortune, indeed), but that I found amusement in the fact that the dripping ceiling was new to each person as they filed by. I suppose I could have warned them—not that it would do much good, considering the number of people crammed into the aisle—but instead I just watched very different people react in exactly the same ways. As soon as a drop hit a hairline, an arm, an exposed toe, they’d look up, surprised, sometimes annoyed. I had done the same thing myself, when I first felt the damp discomfort of the dripping roof. I might sound sappy when I say this, but it’s moments like these, in a city of strangers, when I am reminded how alike we all are.