I’m on the bus. I see faces. Not a lot of them, at this time of day. After all, it’s Saturday evening and respectable people sit at home and watch telly. Or something like that. I, on the other hand, am coming home from a day’s work. Burger King is where I work, and I don’t like it one bit. If I was to define shithole in a dictionary, I guess that my job would fall right into place. I’m depressed and defeated.
Looking round, I see similar faces. One thing that I have in common with them is that look of tiredness and indifference. Apart from that guy who sat next to a buggy staring at his wife. His was just filled with tiredness. The bus I took was the only one available. It would take about half an hour to arrive home. Everyone is staring into their phones. I don’t have a phone; I broke it. Surprisingly, the journey on the bus I find almost therapeutic; solitude is a scarce treasure in my household. It’s knowing that I’ll come home to a house filled with sounds of crying, shouting, and filled with the smell of freshly made food (which happens on a more than usual basis) that makes me feel happy and hopeful.
$root - whoami bus baby
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