on the bus.

22 April 2008

I feel like I should be having a ‘this American life’ moment where someone with a hip but relatable voice talk about the everyday and gleans something noteworthy. But not in an ironic way.

I’m on a bus from Bristol to Oxford, and beside me sits a skin kid with baggy, tattered clothes and dreadlocks. He smells bad and I keep fighting the urge to try and strike up a conversation – where is he going? Where is he from?

I spent the multi-hour layover in Bristol walking around, exploring parks, enjoying the sun and other people out. Seems like there should be some lesson in it all – something about travel and being alone; about temporary spaces and temporary people.

But instead, I wonder what email will be waiting for me when I return…