6

The light always seemed to be there, though he knew it wasn’t.

But it seemed so.

Always a bright spot flickering behind the dark silhouettes of the skinny trunks of the sparse spread of the trees across the street from his bus stop. He would stand and stare at it, completely fixated until the bus would pull up and break his line of vision.

It didn’t interest him at first. Something he could transfix himself to while he emptied his mind from the dull numbness that followed after he left work. That’s it.

When it became more he wasn’t sure. More eager to stand and stare at that little white light than to go home, he rushed from work.

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