I was on the bus, except something more like a subway train. They were on tracks and were designed to go both ways so there was no clear back of the train. I was sitting in what was at the time the back. There was an old woman sitting, baring her teeth. One of them was surrounded with silver and was a lot more yellow than the other teeth. All of them looked like they were about to fall out of her gums, which were a bright red shaded down with offwhite stains. To the left of her, in the very back corner, a teenager had cornered his girl. She was huddled into the smallest space that would hold her and he was right in front of that, nodding his head in some street style message. He couldn't keep his women. He was trying to kiss her constantly and she couldn't keep holding him off. The old lady looked at them a lot, with a tired, unhappy expression. Her eyes were frightened and angry. The skin hung off her face like a child that didn't love her anymore. Some Mexican kids had a small radio and were playing mariachi songs through thick static. They were exceptionally bad mariachi songs, whispy and thin. There was no excitement. Some teenage black girls in designer clothing held the bus trying to decide if it was the one they wanted. They got on and rode for 100 yards until the bus got to the mall, and got off. At that stop, a couple of white girls got on. One of them was wearing african ethnic clothing. They both were very high pitched and loud. I was very tired. I forgot why I had gotten on the bus. It rode on through streets and tunnels, more people getting on and fewer people getting off. A man in a jogging suit sat next to me. I imagined his daily life; he got up at five in the morning, went for a 10 minute jog, came home and showered briefly; then he poured a small cup of coffee and got dressed before he went to work in a suit that was too tight. Several people at work disliked him, and even more forgot his name regularly. When he got off work at five he went home and changed back into his jogging suit. He told his wife - this being the first time in the day that he had seen her - that he would be out running. Then he walked to the bus stop and took it to a gay bar where he snorted indignantly whenever somebody hit on him. When he was buzzed he left the bar and stopped in a convenience store for a bottle of water. He sipped the water until there was no more booze on his breath, unaware that it was just the passage of time that had returned his mouth to its natural, pasty state, and took the bus back home. If there was any water left he poured it in his hair and on his face to suggest that he had been working hard. He would eat a dull meal that his wife had prepared and then brushed his teeth, watched the news, and went to bed. He slept on his back staring at the ceiling and whenever his wife said anything to him he was surprised, asking her "Huh?" She repeated and he answered. Little else. This was my guess. The bus went through a rich neighborhood. Nobody got on or off for some time. When we reached the end of the line I had to get off. I had still failed to remember why I got on in the first place. The end of the line was near the ocean. The smell of dead fish and oil was thick. I stood on the sidewalk looking out over the ocean, towards the shore that was miles and miles away on the other side. Things were the same everywhere, if not worse. I guess I was okay.
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