The Fifteen

I was riding the bus downtown to meet friends. I was going to have a good time, we'd drink and gossip and wish each other well while assuring each other that the firms at OCI would be insane not to give each of us offers. Meanwhile we all feared that we will never get an offer because they could tell right away we were frauds. It'll still be a few weeks before we know how much was paranoia and how much was an honest assement of the facts.
Anyway, the busdriver had an awesome voice. He would announce the stops before we got there, but not harshly in a "7th stop" perfunctory demand. "Get off now or forget about 7th". He meowed 7th into the PA. Softly, it inclined the passengers into silent dialouge. A cool spill from his lip announced "Avenue 2" and I thought of Chet Baker. This was the cool jazz bus. We didn't isolate from each other, but we didn't talk. We glanced at the adds, but sighed and thought about life. There was no talking, no anticipation, we'd get where we were going. It was cool. It was "4th".