Going Home

The air on the Muni bus in the evening is heavy, weighted down by the exhaustion of people done with a long day at work, ready to be home. Some people read, some people talk quietly on cell phones, most stare blankly into space or out the window, not really seeing anything.

As the bus was stopped at a light, a long not quite in pitch, but none the quieter for it, chorus to a popular song was heard. A large woman was strolling down Market Street, singing as if that was all she was meant to do. She didn’t notice the strange looks from people passing by; she continued to belt the words as she walked.

From the silence of the back of the bus came these words, softly spoken, but magnified by the silence of the commute. “You go girl, you Miss American Idol.”

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