Bus

The bus as usual, a mix of extremes. Very little eye contact and too much physical contact make for an uncomfortable trip, but you are used to the breach of personal dignity. You just stare outside, making up stories for people outside. Perhaps that woman is running from the police. Even criminals wear track pants. Maybe that man has realized the meaning of his very existence, which oddly involves ice cream. You nod off as people get off. You dream of tripping, ahhh! You jerk awake, but no one is watching except the driver, reminding you it’s the last stop.