It is 6 AM. The sun is not even up yet. The bus station is filled with its regular morning commuters. George is waiting a couple of feet away from the bus for the driver. Finally, a couple of minutes before the bus was supposed to leave, the driver shows up. He is coming slowly, as one would expect for somebody his size and waistband. His eyes are small, beady, hiding behind some tiny glasses. You can tell that he is not in the mood for driving. As the driver unlocks the bus and gets behind the steering wheel, the commuters line up before the bus door. George instructs his daughter to put his stuff in the trunk of the bus and then they both get in the line as well, the daughter up front and George behind her. The girl rushes to a window seat up at the front of the bus while George is paying for the tickets. The distance is short so the tickets are cheap, not that George would share this opinion. He searches his pockets for his money with only one hand while in the other he is holding his prized fishing rods. They will go fishing. His favourite thing to do. He does not have a wallet so
the search for the money is not easy. In one of his pocket he finds some coins, in the other he finds a used up paper tissue and on the second try a banknote. He pays for the tickets and sits down next to his daughter. He hold the fishing rods firmly between his legs and looks around once. Some commuters are chatting, some are buried in their phones. One guy a couple of seats in the back looks at him in disgust. The guy clearly does not likes what he sees. But George does not sees this. He just turns back front and scratches his head. His hair is curly and dirty grey but no on can tell if that shade of grey is natural or just because George washes his hair just about as often he goes to the dentist, which is next to never. But George does not care about this or that he looks like a slob. He is going fishing and he is taking his daughter with him. Everything that matters to him is there.The girl has her head pressed to the window. She could not be older than 15 years old and bears no resemblance to George whatsoever. She is clean and dressed up neat, well as much as she can given her circumstances. There is a look in her eyes. One of resentment and helplesness. It is Wednesday morning. She should be getting ready for school. Instead she is here.She looks at her father. He happens to look at her as well. George sketches a faint smile on his face. That line of grey hair he wears above his lips as a mustache does not help. The girl turns back to the window and lets out a silent moan of surrender. The bus engine roars up, the driver closes the door, shifts into first gear and the bus leaves its terminal. The guy in the back puts on his headset and proceeds on with a quick nap. The sun is almost up. And George is happy. He is going fishing. He will be dead before the year ends.