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The Fuel


A few miles down the road, a cottonwood with hands for branches stands green in the prairie. The street of Highway 52 goes to 287 North and roads through Longmont like an asphalt river through the city. The cars drive without disruptions and it is always a peaceful road. A bus stop is on Main and 21st, near a Wallgreens with a free vaccums sign inside the plexiglass casing for the advertisement. There are no vaccums, but the promise gives a hope and a giggle for the woman on the metal seat underneath the stop. 


The bus is probably half an hour away but the woman sits patiently, with a brown purse that slings around her right shoulder. Not too skinny, perhaps a medium at Kohls, but solid with calves thick enough to kick a wild dog. She doesn't ask questions, but keeps looking down 287 North with a hope of a destination. Her hair is in a ponytail and her brown skin soaks up the sunrays beyond the clouds. She doesn't twiddle her thumb on the metal seat, rather places her hands on her purse, protecting it, because a woman of worth knows her belongings and it is her right. 


Her mask is not designer, instead the disposable type with a white stretchy rubber around her ears. Designers masks are in these days and sadly, it is the new normal, but for the woman, disposable is her choice. The woman has cheeks worthy to be pinched but no one will mess with her because her eyes are coal fierce and round like a steel wrecking ball. She looks down Main Street again and no bus, yet.


Next Urgent Care is close by, with just one car in the parking lot and no emergencies. Whoever goes into the urgent care doesn't know about out-of-network charges without Medicaid, and Obamacare is not part of the accessible plans. The woman stands and leans against the bus stop with her temple on the plexiglass. Dog days of Summer can cause a heat stroke, but cool breeze refreshes her as strands of her hair flies in the wind. She looks above her and the rectangular metal shade is over her head, attached to the plexiglass casing with steel outlining the bus stop. She looks over her wrist, but there is no watch, as she caresses her skin. Que hora es, porque el autobus es muy tarde!


Everything moves slower with the Coronavirus, and the woman walks back to her seat, waiting. 


Just write.

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