Saturday Night

Eighteen.


The sun has set, and the bus is waiting on full. We drive around Rosignol to pick up more passengers, atleast four to a row that was made for maybe three. Even though the sun went down the heat is still encompassing us, and we all exhale when the bus starts moving because the breeze comes in. The driver pays the bridge fee and the bus starts slowly moving across it. We are a third way on when the driver brakes, or so i thought, and we stop. Everyone starts hissin and talkin all sorts of funny words "wha happen bai?" schuuuuuuuuuu oh motha scunt" etc etc. The driver gets out and hands his conductor and empty can. He starts running. We ran outta gas. The driver puts it in neutral and we start getting pushed back to the beginnning of the bridge...which i think is more dangerous than just staying but who am i to know. One by one the men get out to help without being asked to. I get out too and do my part. "whyte gyal pushin da bus" is a big hit. We all get back in once the gas comes and drive on our way back home. Its an inconvenience thats not one. Its just more time with strangers, who would do anything for you.