Waiting for the Speedwagon

He had battled sleep for too long, but he was determined to fight this drowsy feeling for a while longer. Melting behind the bus stop glass, he was practically a candle in the window of a warm, bright, summer's day. He nodded off, only to meet the stimulant of a solid wall. He knew that the bus would likely win this battle, and he had forgotten what he had started waiting for. Even as he wandered, he had lost sight of his dream. The bus arrived, as buses sometimes do, and he went farther than he ever thought he might.