It was early in the morning when I was going back home. There were no trams but buses instead. The main square was abandoned, empty, only a few persons strolling around. And then, in a few minutes, there were dozens of people coming from nowhere and gathering like bugs to the light.
And then the bus comes, all these people run inside and the mumbling starts immediately. There are bus sleepers and they took half of the seats, and most of the people are just standing and complaining. These standers are mostly young, range from twenty to thirty, maybe more maybe less. They are all good looking, young, fresh, full of energy, ready to ride the world and put a flag on the hill.
The sleepers are older, most of them in their mid-forties or even fifties. It’s hard to see their faces and they are mostly covered with hoods or hats. Holding some old bags between their legs, wrapped in some old jackets and greasy hats.
The standers are complaining about the sleepers – look at them, they are so filthy, smelly, uh, they should kick them out, they are taking our place, and so on. Making jokes and being rude to people that didn’t do any harm to them, that their only fault was sleeping inside the bus. The standers were covering their mouths and noses, hoping that that will help them in not breathing the same air, sharing this place and pain with them.
It was hard for the standers to see that sleepers are breathing. That their chests were moving in a constant rhythm, that they are sleeping or trying to sleep in that crowded, small, uncomfortable place, holding maybe everything that they have in the small bag in front of them. They maybe didn’t notice that one of them had a wedding ring, and they may never ask themselves what is about that person’s family, husband, kids, nice house, and good salary. They never noticed…