Transitions: Ken Hunt

Ken Hunt

Time: 1:45 p.m.

Date: Nov. 10

Location: Northwest corner of Lyndale Avenue and Lake Street intersection

Ken Hunt rests gloved palms on his thighs, leans lightly against the wall and becomes still as the cold stones pressing into his back. He scans the intersection with mustached curl to his smile and a look in his sunglass-veiled eyes that says he’s seen and heard it all and is ready for more.

Engines clatter, passersby chatter. Wind wrangles foreign melodies from metal signs.

Ken has driven buses for three decades and counting, the last several years the 4D, which passes here on its way to New Brighton and Bloomington. Every day he works he comes early to this intersection to listen to the world pass until his bus arrives.

Ken’s feverish during his shifts, watching for sucker punches, a catch-all term that includes keeping tabs on sharp-eyed troublemakers, turning away free-ride hustlers, checking mirrors for cars almost certainly cutting him off.

This is how he relaxes. Breathes. Lives. People pass. He watches. Listens. The simple beauty of a silent man dutifully interpreting the rhythm and cadence of an increasingly arrhythmic world.

He checks his watch, glances down the avenue. “Just a few minutes now,” he says, as an imperceptible beat guides his head into a slow nod.