The Bus

It is dark and rainy and it is St. Patrick's day. I cannot imagine a drearier night than this. My shirt is stuck to my skin and the ache of dexamphetamines past echoes through my jaw. I have sent texts, but I think I'm on my own tonight.

I'm on a coach to work because the trains are down. There is something dirty about coaches. They attract rats. There is a man to my left with a thick, black, grey scratched beard and L O V E tattoo'd across his fingers. The seats are a gaudy blue with yellow stars splashed across the fabric. This is going nowhere.

There is a girl in the seat in front of me. I just saw her face. It was pretty and light brown and for a moment her smile lifted me from my inky wallowing. Is that really all I want? A maternal smile to coddle me like an infant, stroke my head and tell me it's all going to be ok? Grow up. You're supposed to be a man, man.

What I want, what I really want is to be above it all. To be unaffected by this ephemeral cacophony. I think I just saw her looking at me in the window. I pause for a moment, suddenly on parade, giving her time to look at me not looking. I take a second to prepare, then turn to face her reflection. Her eyes are closed, she's sleeping. The bearded man shoots me a glance. He thinks I'm looking at him. A grudging smile, returned. I keep checking the window, and the gnarled old bastard keeps returning pot shots with his eyes. It's not all about you, you wrinkled old tart. Phil told me to stop mollycoddling the reader. Fuck you, fourth wall.

I want to be above it all. I want the wanting to stop. Self contained and content with the moment. Meditate you pigfucker. Stop stealing words from Hunter. Stop writing lazy self-indulgent stories about your...self. Man that bearded guy is paranoid. I just want to look at the girl. Maybe make some eye contact, a smile and a turn so I can say something witty and make her love me. You're fucking hopeless. At least I can laugh at it. The bus driver just admitted he has no idea what he's doing. I guess that makes two of us. How horribly cliché.