At 9.05 on Monday morning, a well-dressed woman sits vaping at Hamilton Transport Centre. On the seat beside her is a school girl. Their backs to the bus bay, it is unclear what they might be waiting for, if anything. Nearby an older man in a high-vis vest is likewise at rest.
A few other souls drift about, sauntering, waiting, pausing. It’s as if everything is in slow motion.
Buses ease in, ease out. The blue No 22 departs for Matamata.
The centre is a bit tired, there’s no getting around it. The shiniest things here are a pair of shopping trolleys, abandoned in parallel in a garden by the entrance, as if they’re checking out what might be in the undergrowth. Beside them, the paint is peeling from some cycle racks. The entrance itself, where so very many buses have turned in from Victoria St over the 21 years since it opened in January 2001, is crumbling in places, the yellow warning paint faded.
