Tales From a Bus in Los Angeles: Morning Has Broken
It’s almost 6am, and the earliest I have ever boarded a bus in Los Angeles. The world outside is dark. Inside, we’re all sleepy. The school girl is sleepy. The man with the headphones is sleepy. The people at the back of the bus, although I’m too tired to turn my head and look, are probably sleepy.
But it turns out to be one of the most peaceful bus rides of my life. Not only is everyone half dozing, but they’re quiet too. No one is on their cell phone. There aren’t even any screaming children. There is very little rowdiness at all. None, in fact.
We sail down Venice Boulevard in a sort of pre-morning-coffee stupor, and by the time we reach Mid City a brilliant streak of red has appeared on the horizon. The darkness is starting to recede. Slowly, slowly, one pixel row at a time, the city comes into view. And my, what a beautiful city it is.
The buildings in Los Angeles were designed for dawns and sunsets; cream-colored walls reflect the scarlet rays with mesmerizing perfection. Sometimes it makes me feel like the world is about to end, but that it’s OK. Because we all understand. We all see. We’re all safely enveloped by this wondrous glow.
I like to think that even I look good in this light. It’s early, my eyes are puffy, my make-up is struggling to hide the imperfections of blotchy morning-face, but I’m refreshingly homogenized by the purest light of the day. Renewed, again, like the city itself; this is a day that could take me anywhere.
I’ve already found myself somewhere unexpected: at peace on a bus in Los Angeles.
