I boarded the fight bus out of the city with no real destination in mind. I'm a wanderer and proud to be. I did not choose it. I'm just trying to survive as long as I can.
The bus speed through the street. Squeaking and whistling from how old it is. Each time it crosses a bad road it shots up and jerks with the passengers in it.
I can't blame it, I had too little to take a luxurious bus.
The car comes to an abrupt stop and the driver yells for us to get down.
"This is not our destination!" I hear a passenger yell. He is in his mid-thirties with brown teeth looking very skinny and toxic.
"Get the f**k down the bus is dead. Your destination is just a few walks away." The driver half yells, his voice sounds hoarse and harsh and the way he looks does not differ his voice. Tattoos. Al
