There is a line of static people waiting at a bus stop. Waiting atop steps, staring into the street. Shifting erratically on the sidewalk, covering their eyes from the sunset. They can see into their apartments, because the side has been sheared off -a gaping freakish hole allowing us to view the interiors that we aren't supposed to- the work of worthless or unlucky construction workers. Either way, probably they're not here right now. Most likely- quiet and stone faced drinking coffee at a diner where the light shines directly down, creating all sorts of depressing shadows under the eyes and exaggerating skin creases. This crowd should look as depressed, but somehow, they're excited. Excitement. Brought right to your doorstep. A slaughter movie, slipped in through the mail slot. A phone call from the mysterious outline of a sexy female. A twice wrapped stick of dynamite, shoved into a rock corner, in a position just effective enough to do more than the job required. The fuse is set, and flint is clicked, and suddenly three dozen people get a fresh out look on life. If only I could have that much of impact. I like diner coffee.