With two bags in tow, K. got out of the taxi and made his way to the dilapidated booking office. A hastily constructed enclosure of clay bricks and asbestos sheets, it served as the local office for a travel agency and as the final stop over spot for the buses making their way out of the city. Nestled in the shade of two coconut trees, the office and the rusty bench outside its entrance provided much needed comfort as the whole place burned under the sun’s intense midday haze.
As K. walked into the office, the agent quickly straightened up. Upon enquiry, he vouchsafed that the bus was expected soon and prodded him to book his ticket without any further delay. K., being a regular traveller along this route, had grown accustomed to this charade and nonchalantly dismissed this notion, and told the agent that he would rather wait for the bus to turn up.
As he turned away from the counter towards the highway, he could see a fairly large group of people scattered across the gravel track, trying to bide time. All of them looked expectantly towards the road with the hope that the bus would soon come.