The Bus

I wrote this Tuesday, but didn’t want to post all my ideas in one day.

Must breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Refreshing apartment air. Breathe. Breathe.

Just rode the bus. During rush hour. In the rain.

It took me 40 minutes to get home. 40! It’s a 20-minute ride on a slow day. It’s only an hour long walk. (I know because I’ve walked it before, well, 45 minutes of it.)

The voices in my head were suggesting that I pull the cord, get off the bus, and run away screaming. I wonder what the voices in other people’s heads were saying.

I cried inside. Screamed inside my head.

The horror. The humanity. The hacking cough of the woman next to me.

When I got off the bus, the man who held the door for me said, “And all of this over a few drops of rain,” referring to the number of short-trip riders. “If it ever snows here, these people will resort to cannibalism. Not that cannibalism has anything to do with snow. But when the panic sets in, they’ll eat each other.”

Never again will I ride the bus during rush hour on a rainy day. Not if I can help it. Death first.

Oh, and as for the cannibalism comment. I just saw lightening and heard someone yell “We’re gonna die!” Lightening and thunder tends to evoke panic here. Snow would mean the end of the world.