It looked no different from any other day. Barely ten people. The old lady was there in her usual seat. The one behind the driver. He had never seen her get up. Or down. It was as if she was a part of the bus. A somewhat worn out mannequin someone had forgotten to take … Continue reading Earthrise, By Arijit Ghoshal
'Why have all prison transports such lousy suspensions?' Jerry thought to himself, as the retro-fitted school bus bounced him around like a bucking bronco. They hadn't even bothered to take the faded, No 26, off the side. He knew the world looked at him as a third-class entity, or even fourth, if there was such … Continue reading Last Sight, By Squid McFinnigan
I think the driver of the 26 is an alien, because it's definitely not human. I don't like riding that bus line but it's the cheapest way, and also the only way. Plus, this man goes where the coke flows. By which I mean Dave, he lives way out, another 25 minutes walk after I … Continue reading Driver, By Michael Murdoch
The Journey: a means of travelling from one place to another: a life: metaphoric; physical; psychological…. Where will it end? “Tickets please.” When was it that you learnt to blame your parents for everything? In your weaker moments? When was it that you learnt that you could wipe out your memory with alcohol, or that … Continue reading The Journey, by Hermione Laake
They are all standing around the bus stop – and are like children. There is the waitress, early fifties, cute in her lipsticks, and the black pinny spoiled only by long black trousers. She ignores me, she understands how I am a top predator of the top deck. She couldn’t trust herself upstairs with me in the eye-line.
We’re different from the boisterous crowds of the weekends. The loud drunks commuting between parties, or the twitching addicts rocking and scratching at their skin, the entangled limbs of one night lovers clawing at each and wrapping around one another in the back. No, we’re the night bus sleepers, a different breed entirely.
“Don’t be concerned madam” I tell her while shoveling the coins mixed with tiny fragments of glass off the stairs and into my coat pockets. An honest days work for an honest days pay.