Walking Bus

 On the near lightless route to the scrap smelters is where the children play. Where two bairns of sagging eyes and faces flush with grey stand unspeaking and unblinking in the way. Their expressions change by no speech or bargain. Wordlessly watching in bland silhouette.

 He tries each time to go via a different course but all roads lead back to them. He wants to sleep a thousand sleeps but the findings of the court were clear. He should have paid to have his headlights repaired. He has come in time to agree. If only it would stop their staring.

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