They wait patiently under the bus stop’s weathered awning. The man stands on one end; his wife of sixty years sits on the other. She wears a light sweater, but he’s bundled up. The elderly couple rarely agree on anything anymore.
“I thought the restaurant was quite good,” says the wife.
“Low quality and high prices. Never again,” the husband responds.
The city bus slows to a stop. He offers her a hand, and she takes it, climbing up the steep steps.
The M23: the quickest, cheapest way to and from downtown.
The one thing they can still agree upon.
The Weekday One Hundred 