Before the Heat

You press the button. Inside the bus a chime sounds once, and the doors fold open. They close behind you. The avenue goes by.

The bus is standing under the overpass with its doors open, and the vines on the pillars are dripping at the edges. It is six in the morning, and the market opens before the heat.

Tarps come off the crates. Tomatoes and peppers go onto the tables three deep. Two stallkeepers set up facing each other, and one calls across, See you under the overpass. The other says it back.

At the table nearest the bus a woman is sorting eggs into a crate by size, and then by color, and then by size again. She looks up as you step down. See you under the overpass, she says, to you.