WHERE'S
THAT
BLOODY
BUS? IMAGINE YOU’RE IN A STRANGE TOWN, WAITING FOR A BUS.
MAYBE IT’S ATLANTA, MAYBE IT'S SAN JOSE. THAT DOESN’T
MATTER. YOU’RE JUST WAITING FOR A BUS, AND IT DOESN’T
COME AND IT DOESN’T COME. YOU START THINKING ALL KINDS
OF STUFF. MAYBE IT GOT A FLAT TIRE. MAYBE IT WAS HIJACKED.
MAYBE THEY DON’T RUN ON WEDNESDAYS. THAT’S A MORONIC
THING TO THINK, BUT I DON’T KNOW YOU. MAYBE YOU’RE A
MORON. A PRETTY GIRL COMES UP AND ASKS IF YOU’RE WAITING
FOR A BUS. YOU SAY YEAH AND SHE SAYS 'WELL THIS ISN’T A BUS
STOP. THE BUS STOP IS A BLOCK THAT WAY.’ NOW YOU BOTH
KNOW THAT I WAS RIGHT, THAT YOU ARE IN FACT A MORON. YOU
SMILE AND SAUNTER OFF, SHOWING HER THAT YOU’RE NOT
THE SORT TO BE BOTHERED BY LITTLE THINGS LIKE THIS OR,
APPARENTLY, FORGETTING YOUR LAPTOP UNDER THE BENCH.
