Buses: Part 3

Watching from afar, I obsessed. Finally, around eleven, his bus came. He and his posse got on; relieved no doubt that this time it was the right bus. The boredom sunk in, deeper now, to the bone. A tall, muscular man with a noticeable scar on his neck walked my way, and my focus changed again. As he approached, an elderly drunk black man wearing an old naval uniform, a half gallon hat with strings …showed first 75 words of 629 total…

…showed last 75 words of 629 total…brought more discomfort to Jon. After a short while people started getting onto the bus, Jon too. The driver sat down and closed the doors, and they roared off into the Dallas streets. It was so beautifully sad, I thought, that I knew I'd never see him again, but his story would go on. And with this idea of an ever vast, ever-lasting world came comfort. And for the first time in 16 hours, I relaxed.