The morning was ordinary: gray sky, the smell of coffee from a kiosk, puddles after the rain.
Martin stood at the bus stop, holding a briefcase and a paper bag with sandwiches. His shirt was tight, the collar choked, sweat dampened his underarms — everything was as usual.
When the bus arrived, people began moving toward the doors.
He was last in line. Took a step forward.
The driver, without looking, said curtly,
“Full. Wait for the next one.”
Martin looked into the cabin — there was space, but no one moved. A woman by the window looked away, a boy with headphones pretended to sleep.
Someone behind him whispered — not quietly,
“He wouldn’t fit anyway.”
His shoulders tensed. The words stuck to his skin like grime.
The bus left. The doors closed with a sound like a sigh.
Martin stood in the drizzle for a while. Then gripped the bag tighter and started walking.
The road stretched along the highway. The hum of cars, the smell of wet asphalt, drops sliding down his glasses. He walked fast, as if trying to prove to himself that he didn’t need anyone’s permission to move.
Halfway there, he stopped to catch his breath. Beside the road stood an old bench, rusty and wet. He sat down. Took a sandwich from the bag. Bit into it. Laughed quietly — bitter and calm at the same time.
His bus passed by — the same one that hadn’t let him in. Only now, with sirens. Smoke from a window, crackling sparks, the smell of burning.
Martin froze. People ran toward the alley, someone shouted: engine explosion.
He stood there for a long time before realizing — it was that bus.
His knees trembled. He sat back on the bench, staring at the road where the ambulance lights flickered through the rain.
The sandwich had gone cold. He placed it beside him, took a deep breath, and for the first time in years, didn’t feel ashamed of his body.
Because it was this body — its weight, its slowness — that had saved his life.
He laughed. Quietly, genuinely.
Then simply walked on. Unhurried.
This time — not because they wouldn’t let him, but because he chose his own pace.
