Short short story;Waiting

Sitting.  Waiting.  When am I going to move?  One or two.  Either side. In front. In back. Miles and miles.  Always stopped.  Backed up. Never ending.  Seemingly forever.  Annoying.  Will it stop?  A list this is not. A story it is.  Cars are not present.  A line this still is.  Does my life have meaning?  No or yes?  Is the grave still there?  No or yes?  My job is. Wait no job is.  I am present.  Yet not alive.  My friends wait.  In the same place.  Every day.  Line moves forward.  Slowly.  I remember.  The line.  The 69 Camaro.  The traffic.  The endless storm.  The trip.  The 72 Oldsmobile. The death.  My jump.  The bridge.  Gone.  My job gone.  My friends. Wait.  My family.  Wait.  I.  Wait.  I.  Fall. Water.  The black depths.  The bodies.  The line.  The wait.  They all wait.  Me too just present.  But dead inside.  The grave I wait by.  And wait I do.  The line moves.  I answer.  The teller hands me the check and I move away.  I go back to my room.  My check in the landlord’s mailbox.  10 dollars short.  I walk and fall and fall then walk. Endless, Foolish.  Never ending. Waiting.  They all wait. Wait for me to join them. I wait. They all Wait.