Bus+Stop

A bus pulls to a stop and a single man in black gets on. The bus driver, a large pasty man with clothes just slightly too small, give him a wordless stare. The man smiles back and nods but no words were shared. He takes a seat close to the front and pulls at his clothes until he sits comfortably. The bus ride is long and and slow, the bus seems to be a perennial five miles per hour slower than the speed limit, but the man doesn't mind. He woke up early today just in case this would happen. They wind through miles and miles of flat fields of corn and wheat. occasional pastures would flash by the windows. the cows and pigs passing by, noting with the utmost amount of indifference the bus' passing. The inside of the bus is empty and decrepit. Advertisements for various cable companies and local TV shows that hadn't aired in years adorned the inside of the bus. most of these were covered in various forms of amateur graffiti and were generally falling apart.

The ride meanders on. the scenery changes, but seems to repeat itself like an old cartoon, always the same corn fields, always the same cows, but the road markers say they have traveled twenty miles.

"quite a long ride to the city" the man says, more to himself than the bus driver.

nothing more was said, not even a glance was given from the driver. he seemed intent to drive his bus, and nothing else seemed to really matter to him. This didn't surprise the man, and he continued his vigilant watch of the passing landscape. soon enough the passing corn lulled him into unconsciousness.