Nighthawk Bus Station

I’m interested in the psychological and emotional effect of the physical environment of this Nebraska small town Greyhound bus station.

The station is not small.

The ceilings are strikingly high, so the effect is somewhat that of a cathedral, maybe.

As I’ve said before, the benches are the recycled pews from one of the old Protestant churches built pre-civil war.

The station is not homey, homy, or cozy. A lot of waiting goes on in here, but nothing is designed to make waiting comfortable.

Now and then, a bum loiters, but bums care little for comfort. The bums in rural Nebraska, in their tastes, resemble yogis who condition themselves to sleep on beds of nails.

Tile has been used for the walls, so there are echoes.

It really is true: once you come in here, everyone is a stranger. You might see someone you’ve known your whole life, have loved and cherished, but in this setting, you leave them alone. Alone. All alone. They are in grief at a departure, or in great loving anticipation of an arrival– not needing your participation.

You know your very own young and beautiful daughter is here to become a stranger to you.