Slice

As the box truck gracelessly hunkered around the bend onto the cross street, I saw through the passenger side window a wiry man languidly supporting the weight of his head on the base of his palm with the rest of his fingers curled into a loose, retracted fist. His gaunt cheeks were framed by an attenuating jaw which gave his head the anemic shape of a light bulb. I glanced inside the cabin while waiting on the corner with the other pedestrians and caught his eyes in a brief moment of surprise, as if he were shocked to discover he was no longer invisible.