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carrotcarmen
It was on a cross-country bus that I met the cat whisperer.  I fell in love with her right away.  Older, she had a soft, out of focus face surrounded by a lop-sided helmet of cotton candy hair.  Her faded orange cardigan (embellished by embroidered cats in various states of play) was(more)
literaryapothecary
His head nodded onto my shoulder instead of hers. He was so delicate, his bones were like doll-house furniture--easily broken. I couldn't believe he had fallen asleep on the bus as it lumbered and lurched northward. She was on the phone, head turned towards the old man a few(more)
tcesta
I preferred this mode of travel.  On the bus you could see the country up close and personal.  And you could carry a gun.  They didn't want you to have a gun anywhere in the UK, but security was much more lax than plane travel.
So when I realized that I would(more)
ColdWarKid
It was the uncomfortable silence that made me look up. Riding the bus is an exercise in blocking out all sorts so of noises: conversations, the odd music bleed-through from headphones, honks, shouts and the din from the air conditioning. Into the vacuum of noise rushed my attention, and(more)
AnneLessing
shotgun barrels stuck out windows

at encroaching, howling hordes

we should've taken the train
Vajonah
This bus has been checked for sleeping children, like Cantonese check for swan pits. It has sapphire wheels which ride like bee stings off the necks of widows. It doesn't stop - for even an acute hum - to well the seem of pregnancy. It sings together all the(more)