The loneliest moments

Created on Tuesday, October 10, 2006.
Filed under .

There was no way around it, after all that thought. There would be no blaring earphones to cover his thoughts, no way to throw himself under the bus.

He was already on the bus.

And the bus was completely empty.

There was no way around the fact that he, once or twice a week, would jump on a late-night bus and stay seated as it snaked through the veins of the city until the bus returned to the depot and he would walk the five or ten kilometres home, at four in the morning.

Why did he do this? To feel as if he was going somewhere.

On these trips he would dream the dreams of chronic loneliness, the secret pestilence of the city; would think, in all seriousness, that perhaps some young girl would ride the bus beside him — never mind the tens of spare seats — and later walk the five or ten kilometres back home with him. Would think that it’s perfectly plausible for an estranged friend to ride the bus and they’d talk and laugh and get along. Like the old days.

But things were changing much too fast. A memory couldn’t even last a day, and even then, it’s advisable not to go looking for grains in the chaff of the past.

This is part two of a short-short story series, called Pay Attention.

That's all there is, there isn't any more.
© Desi Quintans, 2002 – 2018.