Published 2011 by Madman & Moniker, an imprint of Vertigo Alley Books
This story first appeared in Anotherealm (Feb. 2005).
Line 43. Copyright © 2005 by Jesse Gordon. All rights reserved. No part of this e-book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, send an e-mail to email@example.com.
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The man in the denim jacket stepped onto the platform, dropped two-ten into the farebox for a Day Pass, and moved down the aisle. As he went, he took note of this morning’s particular sampling of riders: a trio of Hispanic women towards the front, laundry baskets in hand, chattering cheerfully in Spanish; behind them, on the driver’s side, a younger woman, hair still damp and stringy from the shower, a fine layer of mascara doing its best to draw attention away from the swollen circles under her eyes as she gazed sullenly out the window; several seats down, a beefy, mustached Caucasian man with his face buried in The Orange County Register as he picked at some sort of scab wound on his cheek; behind him, two university students conversing in Japanese as they pointed out items in a battered copy of Import Tuner.