A boy and his little brother–each armed with a sack of groceries–board the bus and rush to pile onto a single vacant seat. The younger boy’s brown eyes flash as he wriggles to fit between the window and his slightly older, seemingly wiser, clearly more serious sibling. A woman on the aisle seat beside them, wearing a leopard print coat and a black hat with flowers, stares dead ahead and refuses to yield an inch to the children.

People rest in their thoughts–or at least in faraway stares–until their stop, until they can continue their worries in a less confined area. A similarly distracted woman across from the boys rises for her stop. She carefully guides herself past the collection of feet, dogs, and bags of produce that line her exit.

In a move of instinct, the smaller brother bolts to the open space and makes a show of the…