Tonight, on my 48 home from Montlake, there was a middle-aged man in the seat slightly behind me and to my right. He was on the phone with a loved one, telling the person in a strained voice not to worry, that he would make it home.
After he hung up, he began moaning softly, then loudly, and when I turned back to look at him, there were tears streaming down his face. He opened a can of something to drink (from my angle, I couldn’t see what it was) and continued to moan and cry.
The bus was rather empty, it being after 8:00 PM on a Friday, and I was one of only a few passengers near enough to this man to know anything was wrong. I turned again, trying to catch his eye, wondering if I should ask if he needed help.
But then, the bus arrived at my stop.
I got off.