collective despair

On a day when the air is so cold, the 1 to 2-foot body margin between the end of your coat and the beginning your shoes goes numb, strangers stood apart, but together, at the bus stop. Some took small strolls to stay warm; others jittered erratically in place. One by one, the 6:20 buses came and went, until at last there were two groups remaining, waiting on opposite sides of the terminal for their rides, which at this point were clearly late. An empty bus stood dark (and presumably, cold), at the edge of the station, and each commuter glanced at it, trying to will the ignition to start, wondering which bus it could potentially be. Finally, the squeal of brakes announced an approaching bus, and as it came into view, one group of passengers rejoiced. The others sank deeper into their coats, strangers to each other but sharing a collective despair.

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