Too early... The stop is already full... So we become smaller… Too early. The stop is already full. So we become smaller. Hood up. Eyes down. We count cracks in the pavement like it’s a job we can finish. The rain taps out a rhythm we don’t answer. Someone laughs too loud, someone coughs too close, someone talks like the world owes him space. We don’t judge. We just shut the door behind our face. We learn a special kind of politeness: no eye contact, no questions, no “are you okay”, because “okay” costs more than we have. Eyes down. Mouth shut. We get on. That’s it. Same wet air. Same dead road. Eyes down. Mouth shut. We get on. We watch our reflection in the shelter glass. Neutral. Useful. A person-shaped “fine”. And we hate that it works. We’re not better than the noise. We’re just numb with better manners. If someone falls apart beside us, we flinch, then turn our faces back to the concrete. The timetable blinks “Delayed” like it’s learned to apologize. We stand packed together and still manage to be alone. Eyes down. Mouth shut. We get on. That’s it. No energy. No spare room. No mercy left. We rehearse our faces. Lock them. Carry them. Eyes down. Mouth shut. We get on. That’s it. Not because we want to. Because it arrives. The door opens. We fold into it. And the city keeps its count.
