in what feels like a way station for the people-of ethereal to move about; a difference of realities they mill around to take their turn-there is no pushing, everyone gets in line, fully cooperates coming from everywhere all walks of life white, black, yellow, brown, red filling up all the space they smile, or give a pat on the back reassuring; to usher each other through to the waiting gate; young and the old gathering together ready to make their way, destined to board the crosstown bus, be heaven bound