"Why aren't we moving?"

"This is taking forever. I should have stayed for my VLSI class."

"Ten minutes and still not moving?"

The door to the bus opens. A black man in a blue work uniform steps up to the entry.

"A lady was just killed by a cement truck."

Really, does everyone on the bus have to spin around towards the construction and peek into every nook to see if they can scope the afformentioned woman?

I kept my eyes fixed on the horizon, and did my best to hold down any tears that were building behind my eyelids. Not knowing someone doesn't imply a lack of feelings for their well-being.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a woman shaking her head in frustration. Someone else was gossiping on the phone about the incident.

The entire thing was made worse by the passing of where the policeman was talking to whom was surely the closest relative to the lady who just left our Earth. I actually turned to look at this, perhaps out of empathy, but perhaps disbelief that such a soul is now abandoned of his other half.

I saw, talking to a police officer, and who appeared to be the man in charge of the construction effort, an eldery gentleman, with wavy grey hair, wearing a brown suit, with nothing left to live for. Or, I could be wrong. Perhaps it was not his wife who died; perhaps it was another. Something tells me, though, that my intuition is correct, and that man is now the most lonely person alive.

I wish I knew who she was, so I could find him, and console him - even if just a little.