Sol wished that she could hail buses on demand. She always seemed to ride the buses on the forgotten routes. Buses with stops without rain covers, lone outposts nervously jutting out of the sidewalk. Buses with schedules that were too complicated to even attempt to fathom: normal stops on Tuesdays, except on streets running northeast to southwest, express stops on Thursdays, except between the hours of some inconvenient time and some other inconvenient time. Buses for brokeasses. Sol actually could afford a cab or a rideshare, but it felt bougie.
Accordingly, Sol stood still as rain continued to deluge her flimsy blue poncho. Cars zoomed by, reaching speeds only intended for highway travel, but she was undisturbed. Faster traffic means a bus should be here sooner, she assured herself repe
