Bus Trip (666 words)
I get on the 254 bus; pull out my travel 10; number 10 buzzes in the machine; NO RIDES LEFT.
Take a seat as far back as I can, a skateboarding guy with long arms and short hair leans over the seat, eyeing me from a distance. I face forward, ignore it.
More people get on, clamoring to their seats. The bus leaves. An Indian woman sitting on the reverse seat up the front looks at me, no smile, no emotion. I look down. On the floor is a brochure for Sony with pictures of products wearing Santa hats, in-car DVD player for $799. I don’t have a car. An mp3 player for $500 - I don’t need it.
There’s a man in a business suit in front of me, scraggy hair and terrible glasses. He’s importantly reading a manifesto on advanced SQL programming. I look over his shoulder and catch a few sentences, something about data pools. Boring.
North Sydney. I roll my travel ten into a barrel, stare at it. NO RIDES LEFT. More people get on. A girl with light blonde hair and looks like Gwen Steffani is fiddling with her change at the front of the bus. I move over in my seat to let her next to me, but before she can an old British man wearing a red cardigan overtakes her and sits down in my empty seat. He smells vaguely of pretzels.
Who wears a cardigan in the middle of summer? This is the question I’m asking myself as the bus moves through North Sydney, up through Crow’s Nest. The light blonde girl pulls out a copy of Who Weekly or something and starts reading about Britney’s breakup. I’m relieved, but I still sneak a look at the “Stunning Scandal”; photos of Britney with acne spazzing out at a Starbucks.
A cosmetic surgery with space to rent, a furniture store, a Thai restaurant, another furniture store, a Japanese restaurant, intersection, too many cars all trying to fit in the same space, an old woman with a walking stick trying to cross the road. Another furniture store, Thai restaurant, OPorto’s corporate office, Captain Snooze - beds, that’s still furniture, train station, Plush…oh, that’s furniture too. Sleep zone, Forty Winks, A really big Mars bar billboard telling me to “Cool it.” Fuck you.
The Indian woman looks at me again, what’s her problem.. My ticket reads NO RIDES LEFT. Saint Leonard’s. More people get on - A man with a backpack and two old women with glasses who both look like John Lennon. A Hospital, offices to rent, Austcorp, whatever that is, ANZ bank, Dick Smith, another Thai restaurant, empty blocks, construction, cars parked, cars caught in traffic, cars moving, 3 car dealerships, the guy next to me sneezes and his toupee almost falls off.
Off the highway, onto the freeway, I’m not sure what the difference is. Guy in front dings to get off, light blonde girl puts away her magazine; this is my stop.
Doors open, I get up, backdoor is closest. I’m waiting at the backdoor, I’m thinking I can be polite and say “After you” and smile when the light blonde girl gets off, maybe strike up a conversation, maybe get married. She moves towards the front instead. Fuck. I get off. Overtake the girl as she comes out of the front door. I feel someone coming up behind me, turn to my left - It’s the guy with the backpack. Fuck. Where’s the light blonde chick? Turn around; she’s crossing the road behind me. Fuck.
Young guy who looks like he works at the bar just ahead looks at me like he knows me, tilts his head to the side. Don’t know who he is. He walks off anyway. Turn left into the next street. NO RIDES LEFT.
Throw the Travel 10 in the bin, kids coming out of the aquatic center, people doing boxing training in the park. My shoes hurt. I walk. Come home. NO RIDES LEFT.
Take a seat as far back as I can, a skateboarding guy with long arms and short hair leans over the seat, eyeing me from a distance. I face forward, ignore it.
More people get on, clamoring to their seats. The bus leaves. An Indian woman sitting on the reverse seat up the front looks at me, no smile, no emotion. I look down. On the floor is a brochure for Sony with pictures of products wearing Santa hats, in-car DVD player for $799. I don’t have a car. An mp3 player for $500 - I don’t need it.
There’s a man in a business suit in front of me, scraggy hair and terrible glasses. He’s importantly reading a manifesto on advanced SQL programming. I look over his shoulder and catch a few sentences, something about data pools. Boring.
North Sydney. I roll my travel ten into a barrel, stare at it. NO RIDES LEFT. More people get on. A girl with light blonde hair and looks like Gwen Steffani is fiddling with her change at the front of the bus. I move over in my seat to let her next to me, but before she can an old British man wearing a red cardigan overtakes her and sits down in my empty seat. He smells vaguely of pretzels.
Who wears a cardigan in the middle of summer? This is the question I’m asking myself as the bus moves through North Sydney, up through Crow’s Nest. The light blonde girl pulls out a copy of Who Weekly or something and starts reading about Britney’s breakup. I’m relieved, but I still sneak a look at the “Stunning Scandal”; photos of Britney with acne spazzing out at a Starbucks.
A cosmetic surgery with space to rent, a furniture store, a Thai restaurant, another furniture store, a Japanese restaurant, intersection, too many cars all trying to fit in the same space, an old woman with a walking stick trying to cross the road. Another furniture store, Thai restaurant, OPorto’s corporate office, Captain Snooze - beds, that’s still furniture, train station, Plush…oh, that’s furniture too. Sleep zone, Forty Winks, A really big Mars bar billboard telling me to “Cool it.” Fuck you.
The Indian woman looks at me again, what’s her problem.. My ticket reads NO RIDES LEFT. Saint Leonard’s. More people get on - A man with a backpack and two old women with glasses who both look like John Lennon. A Hospital, offices to rent, Austcorp, whatever that is, ANZ bank, Dick Smith, another Thai restaurant, empty blocks, construction, cars parked, cars caught in traffic, cars moving, 3 car dealerships, the guy next to me sneezes and his toupee almost falls off.
Off the highway, onto the freeway, I’m not sure what the difference is. Guy in front dings to get off, light blonde girl puts away her magazine; this is my stop.
Doors open, I get up, backdoor is closest. I’m waiting at the backdoor, I’m thinking I can be polite and say “After you” and smile when the light blonde girl gets off, maybe strike up a conversation, maybe get married. She moves towards the front instead. Fuck. I get off. Overtake the girl as she comes out of the front door. I feel someone coming up behind me, turn to my left - It’s the guy with the backpack. Fuck. Where’s the light blonde chick? Turn around; she’s crossing the road behind me. Fuck.
Young guy who looks like he works at the bar just ahead looks at me like he knows me, tilts his head to the side. Don’t know who he is. He walks off anyway. Turn left into the next street. NO RIDES LEFT.
Throw the Travel 10 in the bin, kids coming out of the aquatic center, people doing boxing training in the park. My shoes hurt. I walk. Come home. NO RIDES LEFT.