The Silver Eagle

The smell of burnt diesel hung heavy in the air as hundreds of faceless people shuffled aimlessly through the dark and unfriendly terminal. It was obvious to me that many of these sad souls were laden with cumbersome bags of grievous despair.

Speakers echoed softly with a surreal and oft nasal sound, barking out numbers and calling out "all aboard" for those of us that were determined to be outbound.

Outside stood a group of old gray men gathered together around a burning barrel.

Their faces were dark and weather worn, and they shared with each other the last remaining drops of cheap liquor. Over on the corner stood two young women dressed in their best leave little to the imagination attire. I stared silently out the smoke gray window as they pranced back and forth like the merchants they were, hawking their wares.  Air hissed softly as the doors of the silver eagle closed.

The big diesel engine roared to life as the big bus rolled slowly out of the darkness and into the dull gray of the city. Out past the old men, on now by the ladies of the night, and onward into the crawling hub of masses. At last, I was on my way…..

© J. Allen Wilson