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Weekly Contest #303
Mike grasped the stanchion with a sweaty palm as the bus puttered from stop to stop. For the past thirty minutes. For as long as it took.He stared at the man sitting at the front of the bus. A Red amongst a sea of Yellows and Oranges.Don’t see many Reds. Maybe three or four I can remember.And each time before, Mike had gone to great lengths to avoid them.But today was different.Mike reached into his pocket. Ran his fingers over a cracked, cheap pocketknife. A trinket that had belonged to a father he never met.The bus began to slow. Again.But...
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