My bus route is a trip down one street, and in the early morning hours, it seemed like I was traveling down one wing of a museum dedicated to construction. There was roadwork to the right of me. There were large condominium towers going up to the right of me. In the predawn, those skeletal buildings only reflected the barest of light, hiding behind the night-time shadows. It looked so beautiful, as if I was seeing a city in various stages of waking.
The bus changed gears as it approached the trucks laden with cement barriers, massive piles of drywall, long beds full of pipes and stacks of drywall.
I squirmed in my seat, wondering when this procession had started. Had they all started out together or just converged on this spot? Who planned it all?
It was almost a disappointment to arrive at my destination.