The bus stop
Once upon a time there was a bus stop, lost among the sugar cane fields on a remote island in the middle of the Indian Ocean.
It was a pretty old bus stop, of at least 20 years old.
Its white colour had faded and the metal of which it was composed carried the marks of the sun and the rains, that regularly played between each other on the island.
L. and S. had observed it whenever they passed by and had long since been wondering why the buses were so well decorated and the stops so boring.
It was not right.
So one morning, just before the sun had risen, L. and S. reached the colourless waiting place and transformed it into a small temple.
They decided to take care of it: to put cushions and covered the old wooden bench with fabric to make it more comfortable for the future passengers.
They hanged floral decorations, colourful posters and renewed the faded indication sign.
It was about giving a new identity to an old space. Welcoming those who, for one reason or another, will reach that stop and, even if only for a moment, will experience it and be able to call it home.
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