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| A lot of people are hustling around, and I ease my way up there. I wait for fuckin' ever, easily more than an hour, until the bus I need pulls up. Must mean one just pulled out as I came into the gate. Two people are behind me in line for the bus. Some couple with about twenty bags. It takes them like five minutes just to board. I don't offer to help. I just sit down in the back. I can't help but think that this terminal is the worst kind of dungeon--fumes and subhumans, and cursing and plagues and people rushing around for no good reason I mean whatso-fuckin'-ever. My eyes meet the bus driver's in that crazy long horizontal rearview. Did he just give me a dirty look? Is he nuts? So I give him a night-bus-home smile--pained, like my front teeth are clamped down on a thick piece of rope. Fuck you, bussie, shove your attitude, and stand on the motherfuckin' gas and take me home. -- marc cirino |