The Bus Station

There were only two other people at the bus station when she got there. An elderly lady dressed elegantly in a cashmere coat and Sunday hat and at another stand was a middle aged man complete with beer gut and a hat which looked like it had once belonged to Crocodile Dundee. She wasn't wearing a hat, should she feel left out?
She waited patiently for the bus, not the normal one she would have taken, but a different one, a different route, closer to her destination. It was a pleasant evening and the sun was beginning to go down somewhere behind all of the clouds that blocked its rays.
Before she knew it the bus arrived and she climbed aboard and located a seat where she could enjoy a good view of the passengers and the journey outside the windows. As she put in her headphones she was taken back to a time of innocence, of youth, of adventures long gone. Was there really that innocence? Or did her childhood end early? Either way, she found comfort in her music and the journey.
It was a nice walk from the bus stop to the little hofje, under the conker trees. She made a note that perhaps this year she should collect some and teach her friends how to play conkers, it continued to amaze her how many people have never played. What is that all about, no respect for the finer sports!
It was good to be home...xxx