One man sits and waits for a bus everyday at six AM. Sometimes it is warm; the sun shines brightly off his balding head causing sweat to drip down onto his brow. Smiling into blue skies, he catches himself thinking about younger days: dancing under brilliant light which would pour through golden hair belonging to sweet Jahnavi. Other times, cold air chills old bones. Rain falls languidly, bouncing up from black pavement, splashing, soaking baggy jeans. Erected at cement, blue signs signaling community automobiles scream stop! Pedestrians wait; step forward passenger: car.