bus about while the sky is dark

I skip from bus to bus. The card is my ticket, a hidden oyster to buy, never sell. It slips in and out of my pocket. Tap on and it gives a reply. I’m validated for this ride, not the next. The bus pulls from the curb it rested its wheels on and I stumble up onto the double deck to a seat. Stumble sit. I’m a master by now. My eyes are heavy, but still I must watch where I’m going. It is not such a danger as driving without eyes, yet to miss a stop is precious time before night switches over. There’s the unmistakable smell of warm McDonalds in the air or perhaps it has already soaked into the seats. Press stop, to stop at this stop, right here. Then I’m out of the warm bus air and into the wind of spring pushing winter.ย 

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