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Eight minutes until Ed would board the 237 AC Transit bus back home. California’s welcoming warmth was a stark difference from Chicago’s brutal weather. Two weeks spent in the metropolitan city left Ed with a strong distaste for a gloomy, brisk climate. Why did the conference have to be in Illinois? It could have easily been in the city, where it was still cold, but bearable. Sometimes he hated his job; continuous travel, constant exhaustion, and condescending colleagues. But wasn’t that what he wanted? A promotion? Now all he wanted was to tickle his two daughters and take his wife out on a long overdue dinner at the Wayfare Tavern. The well dressed man sitting next to him seemed to be on his way home too. Ed could use a little chat to pass the time until the bus arrived. After all, his phone was drained from the trip back and he had no inclination to retrieve the charging cord at the bottom of his cluttered satchel.

“Where you going?” Ed asked. The man next to him continued to check emails on his phone.

“Hayward,” he said, without looking up. “Why? You gonna follow me?” he scoffed.

“I’m just asking.”

The man rolled his eyes in a way that was inconsiderably noticeable. “Yeah, sure.” He put in his earbuds and shifted his weight towards the farther edge of the bus bench.

Ed turned back to the street. Cars cruised by as their headlights reflected the dotted white lines that separated the two lanes. Ed’s dark eye bags and slouched posture did not match his executive title, though passersby would not have guessed by his short auburn hair and round face. He checked his watch. 6:10. In the far distance, a narrow gray bus turned on Stevenson Boulevard and cruised down the long, quiet street toward his stop. An old homeless man’s cardboard sign fluttered gently as a slight breeze picked up. The slow moving vehicles and lighthearted joggers comforted Ed as he waited for the 6:15 arrival. The familiar feel of his city made Ed feel relaxed that he would soon be home, hopefully, in time for dinner with his family.

He reached into his right pocket and pulled out the bus money. The dollar bill’s edge was folded over from being shoved in hurriedly and the nickel was...gone. He checked his left pocket. Nothing. Ed remembered putting the coin in his pocket because he heard about the five cent increase in all bus fares for the east bay. It must have fallen out, he thought. He checked under the bench and near his feet.

“Hey, did you see a nickel fall?”

The well dressed man’s annoyed look signaled that Ed would not be receiving an answer, so he took it as a no.

“Do you have an extra nickel then?” he insisted. “I need to catch this bus.” Two weeks away from his family made Ed extremely homesick and melancholy. Was five cents really getting in his way to travel home?

Shuffling steps sounded louder and louder as a homeless man approached the bus stop. Ed straightened his back, clenched his muscles, and cleared his throat.

“I saw you from over there.” A dirty, stubby finger pointed in the direction of the traffic island. “Are you...looking for something?”

Ed relaxed his shoulders. “Oh,” he sighed. “Yeah, I’m short five cents.”

A shrill screech signaled the arrival of the 6:15 AC Transit bus. “Oh god.” Ed panicked. The bus wasn’t going to wait for him. Instead of wasting time, he took a long stride and hopped into the vehicle. The machine took his wrinkled bill and demanded five cents more. Looking around, there were no coins on the littered floor or near the sidewalk. The jingling of coins rung in Ed’s ear as he looked over his shoulder and back at the homeless man. His filthy arm was extended and held a Dixie cup full of coins.

“Take a nickel.”

Shock registered on Ed’s face as the old man’s eyes turned up and revealed crow’s feet. With a delicate hand, Ed drew out one grimy nickel. His eyes meet those of the man, whose tattered, blackened clothes and dreary smell overwhelmed the bus’s strong air freshener. “Thank you,” Ed said with gratitude. He placed a hand on the man’s shoulder and felt the hard bone that was covered by only a thin layer of tough skin. The machine ate his coin and as the bus drove towards the direction of the highway, Ed took a seat on one of the bus’s crumb-covered chairs. The bus doors screeched closed and Ed’s eyes lay lingering on the old man as he blurred from his vision. Soon, the man grew into a miniscule dot and eventually disappeared into the array of moving cars and passing buildings. A smile tugged at the corners of Ed’s lips, and without realizing it, his grin instantly covered his freckled face.

The two men had different lifestyles, seemingly almost opposite. But they were both humans, though one had a higher paying job and the other had a job to stay alive. Similarly, Ed and the old man were home less, though in different ways.