Some times I think of my life as a cage. I move through life just doing what I'm told, more or less, and somehow I don't get anywhere. Sure, I make my mistakes, but how many do you have to make before life throws you a bone?
I mean, seriously. My life is a mess and it seems to only get worse. Well--tonight--it's gone from worse to weird. To downright messed up. It's one of those things that just doesn't seem real. Like how people felt on 911, or maybe Pearl Harbor or something. You hear about bad things, I mean REALLY bad things, happening to other people, but aside from the odd family member with cancer nothing THAT extraordinary happens to you. Or, in this case, me.
See, I'm alone in my life. I've got a crap-job. The hours are crap, the pay is crap and the work is, well, it's not such bad work. The thing is, I work swing at this job. What do I do? It's a crap job. You've had one, imagine your own. It doesn't matter what mine is. So, I'm done with work tonight, but I don't have anyone to go home to, so I'm not exactly rushing to my bus stop. There's an 11 o'clock bus that picks me up and it's an express and it takes me almost exactly to my apartment.
There isn't another bus for a friggin' hour after that and it's slow as hell--takes me through a crap area of town and stops at every damn stop thanks to the abundance of weirdoes in this town.
These creatures that are up, taking the bus in the middle of the night. I mean, what kind of person rides the midnight bus down 66th Street?
Click here for the rest of the story.
Every Friday stop by for another bit of fiction. Either a sequel to this or perhaps another story all together. This week's short story will be available ONLY FOR A WEEK, so don't hesitate if you're thinking about reading it!
Orignal From: MIDNIGHT RIDER
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