The only indication that told him it was right was the number 23 plastered over a ratty sign which hung over a pole above his head. It did match the number against the time sheet his mother had written down for him, graciously she had sent it over an email because she had no doubt he would misplace the physical one.

He tapped his foot rhythmically against the pavement and checked his phone again. The bus was due to arrive ten minutes ago; he had never had one run this late before. Maybe public buses were always this late; he had only ever taken the school bus to high school before. The area was unfamiliar to him so he couldn’t really walk around and ask someone for directions. Not to mention the nagging fear in the back of his mind that kept telling him if he left this spot he would surely miss the bus.