Ficly

-8

contends to suffer. She voices dreams. She voices the future quick above the present. It confuses the elder woman but she longs so much for that hug, for a contact so pure in hope it drips warmth into her frozen feet.
The middle-aged woman calls for her son, and together they help the elder woman to the bus. They stand in line behind a handsome young couple who share red-rimmed eyes, coy smiles and hands. The young man bends to kiss the girl’s temple. She sighs gently and leans into him. Her plain coat crumples into his flannelette shirt, forming an odd combination of colours and stature. They step onto the bus, eyeing the new driver. He stares back, apologises on behalf of the company and bids them onto the bus.

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