But Your Heart Can See for Miles...

The Outinis with their "eyes bags"

“Leave this to me,” Itto whispered as the long-awaited bus parted ways with the traffic and swung toward the curb. “We’re getting on this one.”

Seizing the folded umbrella I’d been carrying all day despite the clear weather and waving it in lieu of her cane, still at home, Itto forced her way to the front of the throng. Some of us had been waiting for ten minutes, some for thirty, some for ninety-five. More than one bus had come and gone, and for one reason or another—engine troubles, lack of capacity—none of us had been allowed to board. A note of desperation now infused the air. Our fellow hopefuls swarmed behind us, prompting the driver to let loose a flurry of fly-swatting motions before punching the button to open the doors.

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