South across two lanes of traffic-less boulevard the restaurants and news stand are dark. Where there are no buses there are people. People and sunlight share space, but as the sun climbs faster the people move slower. A bus driver fumbles with the fasteners that hold a bicycle on the front of his bus. Another, eating an apple from her right hand, reaches down for her drink, shakes out an ice cube into her open mouth, then nails the trash.
Pigeons scurry, then preen their wet feathers.
Three buses come, more go out. A woman crosses the lanes, pushing her baby in a stroller. In knots of two, and four and five come the high school kids. Eventually they'll all end up on one of these buses, but they're not looking for buses. They're looking for each other, looking for themselves, sliding and shuffling, hitching up their pants and lighting cigarettes.