Tires squealed, and the air smelled of burnt rubber, as the bus suddenly stopped, inches from my toes. The smart-doors opened, and the conductor’s face haunted my eyes. His monotone voice questioned my entire life with the usual sentence, “Where do you want to go?” As much as I wanted to trigger another midlife crisis with a witty retort, I ultimately decided against it, and to return to my humble abode. My eyes jumped around the familiar empty seats as I walked to my second home, the window seat. Whipping my old earphones out, my fingers glided through Spotify, a mind of their own, tapping onto ‘Matilda’ as Harry’s comforting voice blasted my eardrums.
The bus was strangely empty that day, save for one man occupying the front seat. Regardless, I fixed my gaze on the blurring window; the passing green leaves, the old yellow of a light pole painting a Monet in the corner of my eyes. After a tiring day at work, I only desired...