This time around, I stayed within walking distance of my place. Betty Jo reliably pops up on the police scanner about once a day, but the kids are out playing tag or kickball, and the burned-out apartment building that stood for almost two years has been cleared to its foundation. Things are OK on Betty Jo.
To the north, travelers wait at a one-way bus stop at 7 p.m. like clockwork. Today, the crowd includes a Vietnam vet, an Appalachian coal miner, a student with a big smile, a Kansan writer and a photographer almost everyone ignores. The bus is late.
A man in khakis and bright blue T-shirt checks his watch and lights his second cigarette. Diffuse clouds are painted above, the sky defused by earlier storms. “Be bold,” the writer tells the photographer. “Take the chance.” Not “a” chance, “the” chance. I like that.
The bus arrives an hour late. The harried driver strides quickly, asking for tickets and bags. The student waves to her friend. The driver towers over the coal miner. Silhouettes watch from the windows.
I’m on a bit of a black-and-white kick lately. Sometimes colors make the photo, but sometimes I think they distract from the image’s pieces. Other times, I think black and white just looks cool. Nothing wrong with that, I say.
PS: Here’s some ducklings.