Every evening, when I board my bus home, I notice a trend that is not one to be proud of. I notice that exhaustion is a new way of life for the working poor and the vanishing middle class. Each evening, I watch and wait, along with the countless other work weary riders, on lines to rival a good day at Great Adventure. Except that at New York City’s Port Authority, a line is never a good thing and there is almost never a good day.There will be no thrill ride at the end of this line.
Exasperated and exhausted we stand. Some are reading books, or magazines, listening to iPods, staring blankly into space, trying to gauge how many seconds of sleep they can steal while standing along walls and past ticket vending machines. We’re all heading towards the few gates to buses that will drag us all out of the City limits. Once we have managed to be within eyeshot of the coveted bus, we begin to pray, peeking at the red-lighted number counting the boarding riders. We watch…36, 39, 44,...
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