Creative Non-Fiction Short Stories. :) Travel, Oldsters, Love, and Compassion.
The Taksim bus station, night and day, hosts chaos. Buses line up and depart from four doubled-up lines and feature the soundtrack of air brakes and honking horns. Pedestrians, as they aim to navigate the traffic and the taxis, test their nerve through exhales of cigarette smoke and diesel exhaust.
The 35C Kocamustafapaşa bus arrives, but waits a bit back. The doors are closed as the driver stands slowly from his seat, and shuffles to check his domain. He moves toward the rear seats looking for stray passengers or purchases, any items left behind. On his way, he stops, reaches up to the handstraps and performs a few pull-ups. He snaps off four or five, crunches his knees in toward his protruding belly, makes a face to himself in the effort. He stops and exhales in pride. He takes a few more steps, then tries again, another set of pull-ups with mixed success. The passengers outside busy themselves with impatience. He brushes down his blue-button up shirt, adjusts the three pens in his front pocket, and returns to his wheel. He drives forward to the waiting passengers. As the doors sigh open, he strokes his mustache and nods, amped for the route ahead.
Reblogged this on The Nice Thing About Strangers and commented:
A nice moment from Taksim (so maybe Dad will relax when I hit the road again…) 🙂