11.28.2015
The bus hummed and rumbled down the toll road, southbound. Tern’s seat faced the middle of the bus, and he gazed out the windows on the opposite side and took in the mountains. Snow covered the distant peaks, except for a few rugged bare spots. The rising sun glinted off what must have been metallic objects, three of them in close proximity. Blinking in sequence, regularly. This was new. And all the way up on the wintered peaks. The bus followed a bend in the road, and the PA system chimed out ding ding ding “Union Station”. The bus took an offramp and swung its way from the expressway toward the underground bus terminals below the Union Station. A heavy whir rose as the bus slowed and stopped at its gate. The doors opened automatically, and Tern rose to join the others shuffling their way off the vehicle. He wound through the terminal to the stairs that rose up to ground level. A wind stirred as he left the stair well, and the wind followed a train as it crept out of the station. He crossed the few feet of concrete to the doors for the rear entrance to Union Station. Warmth drew him further in, and he made his way past many people sitting in the spacious lobby who drank coffee and lattes. He wanted to stop and join the crowd, but a large clock (analog) told him he had neither the time nor the money. Straight through the building and outside again. The sun crept upward and threw rays right down 17th Street, along all the pavement and into Tern’s eyes. He followed a couple business women with long skirts and black pea coats as he made his way one block further south. He turned eastward and walked along the pedestrian mall for several blocks until he came to the address he’d memorized from the letter in his breast pocket. The Bureau of Economic Intensification occupied part of the first floor here, and he made his way through the heavy glass doors. Muted striped carpet drew his eyes to the reception desk behind which sat a lady with large-curled, black hair and thick oval glasses. Her fingernails clacked over the keyboard with surprising slowness. Hunt and peck, he guessed. She looked up from the keyboard and stopped typing when he came into her peripheral vision. “Hello,” he said as he placed his hands on the beige, laminate counter top. “Welcome to the BEI,” she replied. “Here for the focus group?” He answered, “Yes.” “Go right through the doors,” she motioned to her left, “and take a seat with the others. They’ll come and gather you all when they are ready.” “Okay, thanks.” And he entered the small waiting room through the set of flimsy particle board double doors. Seven chairs lined the walls, and were each filled. Another seven people stood in close proximity in the middle of the room. He made fifteen. A woman with her hair pulled back in a sloppy bun had shifted to avoid the door as he entered. As he shut it behind him, she was able to scoot back a bit. Tern hoped there were no others to follow, since the room would become cramped at that point.