The bus stop at 4:17 a.m. is where the city breathes

I was walking past the old depot turnoff, and the stop light was still red—no one around, no buses, just that one flickering bulb above the shelter. I stood there for a minute, not waiting for anything, just watching how the rain had stopped mid-sentence. It wasn’t quiet, exactly. More like the city holding its breath between systems. That’s when it hit me: some places aren’t meant to be used. They’re meant to be witnessed. Like a train that never arrived, but still made the air feel different.