
As he thumbed the ridges of the quarters Jack thought of his work, of the papers he had to write and the books he had to read.  Have to write six page paper, he thought.  Have to read a hundred pages.  Have to do eighteen translations.  One hour, he calculated to himself for the translations.  One hour, he added for the hundred pages.  Four hours, he estimated for the paper.  Time and a half, for error and revision and laziness, he multiplied for the final answer of nine hours work.  Add an hour, he added again, just to be safe.  Ten hours, he thought.  
His brain rebelled at the thought of dedicating so much time to academic endeavors.  Somewhere in his mind Jack wanted all of those hours for himself, to waste on whatever passing fancy would be most pleasant or enjoyable to him at any given moment.   Yet, Jack also enjoyed and was pleased by his academic work.  He was gaining knowledge, skills, and experience at a slow but sure pace.  And, though it was slow, there were few places and few times in his life where he had grown and learned so much; even during years of working different jobs.  Wryly smiling to himself, Jack promised to waste a lot of time in between assignments.  Whenever he felt a strong aversion to homework, wasting several hours always helped.  
Suddenly Jack’s senses danced into excitement.  His nose sniffed, smelling that particular mix of rubber, asphalt, and exhaust fumes.  His ears strained, listening to air escaping under pressure and the loudest engine on the road.  His head turned and his eyes tensed as they focused on the mammoth black, blue, white box of a vehicle moving towards him.  
Gathering himself and his thoughts, Jack planted one foot beneath himself and stood up from his seat on the sidewalk.   Giving a nervous tug on his backpack straps he set his face against the force of air pressure created by the massive bus stopping.  Warm exhaust fumes rolled across his body.  The smell was unpleasant, if you did not like the smells of cars, but the air was a warm respite on a cold day.  One hand thumbing the quarters, the other flattening two dollar bills, he surveyed the other students lining up to get on the bus.
A ragged line took shape as Jack carefully shuffled towards the open bus door.  He recounted to himself who had been the first people waiting at the bus stop, and he observed which people were more quickly or slowly adjusting their places in the growing line.  It always amused Jack to watch the line for the bus form.  Some days the line formed according to no rule other than quickness and willingness to advance to the front of the line.  He could find no rhyme to the process.  It was much like a school lunch line.  Whoever wanted it most pushed themselves forward, and it was usually one or several of the older, and more consciously sophisticated, students.
