The new driver is angry. Man, is he angry. How could that idiot die? On his day off, too, no less. Now he has to deal with these sad, nervous passengers who will always tie him to a scene he never thought to be part of. The reality of what happened fails to reach his wit. He sits there, unhappily murmuring condolences and accepting grief for a man he hardly knew. He wants to be at home with his six-pack of lager, on his couch watching a television program showing pieces of skin not normally allowed. The bus grumbles to life and the new driver turns the radio on. He looks up into the rear-view mirror, to catch a quick glance of his passengers. He gulps and stares forward. What the hell, he thinks. Why should I feel affinity for these people? He shakes his head, removing the image he has seen and flicks the blinker on. He nods at the police officer who directs the bus into traffic.
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i use my vocal chords in a morally corrupt manner because most things don't make sense; therefore i'm a glaze-eyed dreamer incessantly imagining the life of my next door neighbour. i live a big life in a small town. i sh... Read Bio