B-47

Life in a DMV line

The line at the DMV curved around the room like a snake that had no interest in moving. The hum of fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and the air smelled faintly of paper and impatience. Emma shifted her weight from one foot to the other, already regretting the decision to renew her license in person.

She glanced at the number in her hand. B47. The board blinked stubbornly at B12.

“This is taking forever,” she muttered, earning a sympathetic glance from the man in front of her. He was tall, with a beard that looked a little too carefully trimmed to be accidental.

“It’s always like this,” he said. “I think they make it slow on purpose, just to remind us who’s in charge.”

Emma chuckled. She wasn’t usually one to chat with strangers, but standing in line felt like being trapped in an odd little community. They were all prisoners of the system, waiting for their moment of release.

Minutes dragged on. A child in the back cried about wanting a snack. A clerk at the window announced, in the most lifeless voice Emma had ever heard, that someone’s paperwork was incomplete. A collective groan went through the room.

The man in front of her turned again. “So, what’s your story? Other than waiting for hours.”

“Just trying to get this over with,” Emma said, waving her ticket. “What about you?”

“Same. But maybe it’s not so bad. At least I met someone worth talking to.”

His smile caught her off guard. The clock ticked, the numbers crawled forward, but for the first time that day, Emma didn’t feel quite as trapped.

Maybe forever wasn’t so bad after all.