🚌🛑🦬 Bus Stop Bison #3 🦬🚌🛑
There was a bison who sat at the corner of Elm and Fifth, on the weathered wooden bench beside the faded bus stop sign. His name was Rollo.
Rollo had once known which bus to take. He was sure of it. Route 42, or was it 24? Maybe it was the blue one. Or green. One morning he had come to the stop with purpose, a destination firmly in mind—but that was many weeks ago, and the details had long since dissolved like sugar in tea.
Now, Rollo simply sat.
Day after day, bus after bus, he watched the world move on without him. The drivers knew him by now. Some gave a polite nod. One or two had even tried to ask if he needed help, but Rollo would just smile softly and shake his massive head, a gesture full of calm resignation.
He wasn’t sad, not really. There was something peaceful about the routine. The rising sun, the gentle hiss of the air brakes, the occasional dog barking from inside a passing vehicle.
Then, one Tuesday afternoon—a day that started like any other—Bus 16 pulled up and the doors whooshed open. Rollo didn’t move, of course. But then he saw them: two familiar faces peering out from behind the scratched glass.
“Zeke? Gustavo?” he murmured.
Sure enough, there they were. Zeke waved frantically with his tiny gecko hands, and Gustavo gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up. Rollo blinked in disbelief. Gustavo never took the bus. He had a mint-green van with fuzzy dice and a cassette player he was oddly proud of.
The geckos grinned, shouted something muffled by the glass, and were gone. The bus roared off, vanishing into the curve of the street.
Rollo sat very still. The sun had shifted slightly in the sky.
For the first time in weeks, he stood up. He walked to the edge of the curb, looked down the road, then back at the bench. Slowly, thoughtfully, he sat back down.
Maybe tomorrow, he thought.
Maybe tomorrow, he’d ask the driver where the geckos were headed.
And maybe… he’d finally remember which bus was his.
Who doesn't love a Bus Stop Bison?
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction, written by ChatGPT. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the AI's imagination. Any resemblance to actual creatures, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.