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Another day over. Time to go. A group of us waddle onto the bus. We sit, each with our own two seats - for the extra space. We face each other by turning around. Hopefully we'll miss the school kids, it's almost 3, they should still be in school. My friends talk to each other, but I stare out of the window, only occasionally answering them. The window is more interesting.
As we drive through a rough area, I see the way life is. Tiny corner shops, faded adverts in the windows, open but empty. Others boarded up, years worth of graffiti smothering the shutters. We pass a post office. The queue is out the door and down the street. Probably all doll wellers I think. What a terrible thing to say comes my own response, but sadly it's quite likely to be true.
We pass Greggs. Somebody is sweeping the floor. She's at least 50, stuck in a ridiculous outfit meant for 20-somethings. So this is life aged 50? Working part time in a shop? No pension, no health plans, no dignity. Just you and the broom.
The litter catches my eye. Empty plastic bags of varying colours are sprinkled around the pavement and gutters like snow on Christmas Day. No road sweepers here, just tiny overflowing bins stuck on lampposts.
The traffic slows us to a stop. From high above I see school kids, barely in uniform, kicking cans along the path, pausing to look in the shop windows, fighting amongst themselves. The mood is light within the groups, but the individuals look like they've just been to their favourite pet's funeral. The walk slowly, not taking their eyes from the grey paving stones passing underneath their feet which are covered with plastic bags, newspapers and week old chewing gum. Hands in their pockets, they could be the poster child for Depressed Weekly.
The traffic moves on and we're on our way again. Every parked car looks battered. Old. Scraped paint, scratches, missing wind mirrors, smashed registration plates. The journey continues. Passing the houses now. Smashed windows, some boarded up, others left the way they are, entries for the howling wind. Each house is identical save for the faded paint on the front doors. I don't even see any numbers on the houses.
On the move again, past the hospital. A sea of parked cars, ambulances and wheelchairs awaits us. The bus pulls aside as a police car rushes past, sirens blaring. Not a rare sight on this journey.
In town now, past the endless roadworks which seem to tear up the roads on a weekly basis. They slow us down considerably. This particular bus goes right by my house, so I say my goodbyes and remain seated as my friends get off and go their separate ways. The bus is almost empty, but I know the next stop will fill it with the elderly. Sure enough, the bus is soon packed. Out of town now, past Newcastle University. Or is it Northumbria? I don't even know. Wait, probably Northumbria, I decide. The students are all baggy pants and bright t-shirts. Most have probably never worked a day in their life.
Lots of modern, sporty or fancy cars out. Personalised plates are two a penny, but require a codebook to work out. What's the point in spelling your name if people won't even recognise it because of all the code talk you've had to use to keep the price down? 5TUD is the worst I've seen. Congratulations, you've just announced to the world that your manhood is inadequate.
Past a lake, past another hospital. Past more police cars, rushing to the scene somewhere. The traffic is pretty bad now, we're stopping and starting constantly. The school kids filter in, more and more with each bus stop. They look like year 7s, but it's so hard to tell when you're not at school yourself. They laugh and joke. Through my headphones I can't pick up the words, but they're trading some sort of cards. Look Japanese. It reminds me of the crazes we had. POGs, football stickers, Nintendo cards.
They're kicking an empty bottle around now, one which has been rolling up and down the bus since the start of the journey. It hits my foot. I look up and the kids are trying their best to look innocent. I shoot them a look and go back to my window. Past my old work building. I see the endless lines of drones coming out, and the poor saps whose shifts are just starting and are going in. Glad I've finished there, my contract up, but the meeting today with the head of the college brought home the fact that I'll miss the money.
Going towards Four Lane Ends metro station now, where all the busses come and go. The sun has drawn out the school kids, instead of the cold sending them straight home. They sit on the small patches of grass, jumpers and ties off, bags by their sides. They throw sticks at the windows as we go past. One hits my window and gives me a slight jump as it snaps me out of my train of thought. We pass an arguing couple in a car park. The course of true love never did run smoothly.
Going past my old high school now. God I hate that place. They told me at work never to give them as a reference ever again, since the head of 6th form gave me a terrible report. I passed my A levels, so what if I was rarely in and rarely on time? What do they want from me?
The bus stops are getting closer and closer together. The bell is pressed, but nobody gets off when the driver stops. He shouts at the kids if anyone is getting off. The kid standing says no, he wants the next one. The driver hisses at him to sit down. Not very polite.
My stop is next. I stand, my head almost brushing the roof of the single deck bus. I tower over the school kids, despite being average height. Was I ever that small? I thank the driver and walk down my street.
Everything passes you by when you're in a deep discussion about what's on TV that night, or where you're going on a night out. I prefer to just sit and stare at the world as I pass it by. Twenty minutes on the bus gives you more insight to the real world than any twenty minute speech or video.
As we drive through a rough area, I see the way life is. Tiny corner shops, faded adverts in the windows, open but empty. Others boarded up, years worth of graffiti smothering the shutters. We pass a post office. The queue is out the door and down the street. Probably all doll wellers I think. What a terrible thing to say comes my own response, but sadly it's quite likely to be true.
We pass Greggs. Somebody is sweeping the floor. She's at least 50, stuck in a ridiculous outfit meant for 20-somethings. So this is life aged 50? Working part time in a shop? No pension, no health plans, no dignity. Just you and the broom.
The litter catches my eye. Empty plastic bags of varying colours are sprinkled around the pavement and gutters like snow on Christmas Day. No road sweepers here, just tiny overflowing bins stuck on lampposts.
The traffic slows us to a stop. From high above I see school kids, barely in uniform, kicking cans along the path, pausing to look in the shop windows, fighting amongst themselves. The mood is light within the groups, but the individuals look like they've just been to their favourite pet's funeral. The walk slowly, not taking their eyes from the grey paving stones passing underneath their feet which are covered with plastic bags, newspapers and week old chewing gum. Hands in their pockets, they could be the poster child for Depressed Weekly.
The traffic moves on and we're on our way again. Every parked car looks battered. Old. Scraped paint, scratches, missing wind mirrors, smashed registration plates. The journey continues. Passing the houses now. Smashed windows, some boarded up, others left the way they are, entries for the howling wind. Each house is identical save for the faded paint on the front doors. I don't even see any numbers on the houses.
On the move again, past the hospital. A sea of parked cars, ambulances and wheelchairs awaits us. The bus pulls aside as a police car rushes past, sirens blaring. Not a rare sight on this journey.
In town now, past the endless roadworks which seem to tear up the roads on a weekly basis. They slow us down considerably. This particular bus goes right by my house, so I say my goodbyes and remain seated as my friends get off and go their separate ways. The bus is almost empty, but I know the next stop will fill it with the elderly. Sure enough, the bus is soon packed. Out of town now, past Newcastle University. Or is it Northumbria? I don't even know. Wait, probably Northumbria, I decide. The students are all baggy pants and bright t-shirts. Most have probably never worked a day in their life.
Lots of modern, sporty or fancy cars out. Personalised plates are two a penny, but require a codebook to work out. What's the point in spelling your name if people won't even recognise it because of all the code talk you've had to use to keep the price down? 5TUD is the worst I've seen. Congratulations, you've just announced to the world that your manhood is inadequate.
Past a lake, past another hospital. Past more police cars, rushing to the scene somewhere. The traffic is pretty bad now, we're stopping and starting constantly. The school kids filter in, more and more with each bus stop. They look like year 7s, but it's so hard to tell when you're not at school yourself. They laugh and joke. Through my headphones I can't pick up the words, but they're trading some sort of cards. Look Japanese. It reminds me of the crazes we had. POGs, football stickers, Nintendo cards.
They're kicking an empty bottle around now, one which has been rolling up and down the bus since the start of the journey. It hits my foot. I look up and the kids are trying their best to look innocent. I shoot them a look and go back to my window. Past my old work building. I see the endless lines of drones coming out, and the poor saps whose shifts are just starting and are going in. Glad I've finished there, my contract up, but the meeting today with the head of the college brought home the fact that I'll miss the money.
Going towards Four Lane Ends metro station now, where all the busses come and go. The sun has drawn out the school kids, instead of the cold sending them straight home. They sit on the small patches of grass, jumpers and ties off, bags by their sides. They throw sticks at the windows as we go past. One hits my window and gives me a slight jump as it snaps me out of my train of thought. We pass an arguing couple in a car park. The course of true love never did run smoothly.
Going past my old high school now. God I hate that place. They told me at work never to give them as a reference ever again, since the head of 6th form gave me a terrible report. I passed my A levels, so what if I was rarely in and rarely on time? What do they want from me?
The bus stops are getting closer and closer together. The bell is pressed, but nobody gets off when the driver stops. He shouts at the kids if anyone is getting off. The kid standing says no, he wants the next one. The driver hisses at him to sit down. Not very polite.
My stop is next. I stand, my head almost brushing the roof of the single deck bus. I tower over the school kids, despite being average height. Was I ever that small? I thank the driver and walk down my street.
Everything passes you by when you're in a deep discussion about what's on TV that night, or where you're going on a night out. I prefer to just sit and stare at the world as I pass it by. Twenty minutes on the bus gives you more insight to the real world than any twenty minute speech or video.
Another day over. Time to go. A group of us waddle onto the bus. We sit, each with our own two seats - for the extra space. We face each other by turning around. Hopefully we'll miss the school kids, it's almost 3, they should still be in school. My friends talk to each other, but I stare out of the window, only occasionally answering them. The window is more interesting.
As we drive through a rough area, I see the way life is. Tiny corner shops, faded adverts in the windows, open but empty. Others boarded up, years worth of graffiti smothering the shutters. We pass a post office. The queue is out the door and down the street. Probably all doll wellers I think. What a terrible thing to say comes my own response, but sadly it's quite likely to be true.
We pass Greggs. Somebody is sweeping the floor. She's at least 50, stuck in a ridiculous outfit meant for 20-somethings. So this is life aged 50? Working part time in a shop? No pension, no health plans, no dignity. Just you and the broom.
The litter catches my eye. Empty plastic bags of varying colours are sprinkled around the pavement and gutters like snow on Christmas Day. No road sweepers here, just tiny overflowing bins stuck on lampposts.
The traffic slows us to a stop. From high above I see school kids, barely in uniform, kicking cans along the path, pausing to look in the shop windows, fighting amongst themselves. The mood is light within the groups, but the individuals look like they've just been to their favourite pet's funeral. The walk slowly, not taking their eyes from the grey paving stones passing underneath their feet which are covered with plastic bags, newspapers and week old chewing gum. Hands in their pockets, they could be the poster child for Depressed Weekly.
The traffic moves on and we're on our way again. Every parked car looks battered. Old. Scraped paint, scratches, missing wind mirrors, smashed registration plates. The journey continues. Passing the houses now. Smashed windows, some boarded up, others left the way they are, entries for the howling wind. Each house is identical save for the faded paint on the front doors. I don't even see any numbers on the houses.
On the move again, past the hospital. A sea of parked cars, ambulances and wheelchairs awaits us. The bus pulls aside as a police car rushes past, sirens blaring. Not a rare sight on this journey.
In town now, past the endless roadworks which seem to tear up the roads on a weekly basis. They slow us down considerably. This particular bus goes right by my house, so I say my goodbyes and remain seated as my friends get off and go their separate ways. The bus is almost empty, but I know the next stop will fill it with the elderly. Sure enough, the bus is soon packed. Out of town now, past Newcastle University. Or is it Northumbria? I don't even know. Wait, probably Northumbria, I decide. The students are all baggy pants and bright t-shirts. Most have probably never worked a day in their life.
Lots of modern, sporty or fancy cars out. Personalised plates are two a penny, but require a codebook to work out. What's the point in spelling your name if people won't even recognise it because of all the code talk you've had to use to keep the price down? 5TUD is the worst I've seen. Congratulations, you've just announced to the world that your manhood is inadequate.
Past a lake, past another hospital. Past more police cars, rushing to the scene somewhere. The traffic is pretty bad now, we're stopping and starting constantly. The school kids filter in, more and more with each bus stop. They look like year 7s, but it's so hard to tell when you're not at school yourself. They laugh and joke. Through my headphones I can't pick up the words, but they're trading some sort of cards. Look Japanese. It reminds me of the crazes we had. POGs, football stickers, Nintendo cards.
They're kicking an empty bottle around now, one which has been rolling up and down the bus since the start of the journey. It hits my foot. I look up and the kids are trying their best to look innocent. I shoot them a look and go back to my window. Past my old work building. I see the endless lines of drones coming out, and the poor saps whose shifts are just starting and are going in. Glad I've finished there, my contract up, but the meeting today with the head of the college brought home the fact that I'll miss the money.
Going towards Four Lane Ends metro station now, where all the busses come and go. The sun has drawn out the school kids, instead of the cold sending them straight home. They sit on the small patches of grass, jumpers and ties off, bags by their sides. They throw sticks at the windows as we go past. One hits my window and gives me a slight jump as it snaps me out of my train of thought. We pass an arguing couple in a car park. The course of true love never did run smoothly.
Going past my old high school now. God I hate that place. They told me at work never to give them as a reference ever again, since the head of 6th form gave me a terrible report. I passed my A levels, so what if I was rarely in and rarely on time? What do they want from me?
The bus stops are getting closer and closer together. The bell is pressed, but nobody gets off when the driver stops. He shouts at the kids if anyone is getting off. The kid standing says no, he wants the next one. The driver hisses at him to sit down. Not very polite.
My stop is next. I stand, my head almost brushing the roof of the single deck bus. I tower over the school kids, despite being average height. Was I ever that small? I thank the driver and walk down my street.
Everything passes you by when you're in a deep discussion about what's on TV that night, or where you're going on a night out. I prefer to just sit and stare at the world as I pass it by. Twenty minutes on the bus gives you more insight to the real world than any twenty minute speech or video.
As we drive through a rough area, I see the way life is. Tiny corner shops, faded adverts in the windows, open but empty. Others boarded up, years worth of graffiti smothering the shutters. We pass a post office. The queue is out the door and down the street. Probably all doll wellers I think. What a terrible thing to say comes my own response, but sadly it's quite likely to be true.
We pass Greggs. Somebody is sweeping the floor. She's at least 50, stuck in a ridiculous outfit meant for 20-somethings. So this is life aged 50? Working part time in a shop? No pension, no health plans, no dignity. Just you and the broom.
The litter catches my eye. Empty plastic bags of varying colours are sprinkled around the pavement and gutters like snow on Christmas Day. No road sweepers here, just tiny overflowing bins stuck on lampposts.
The traffic slows us to a stop. From high above I see school kids, barely in uniform, kicking cans along the path, pausing to look in the shop windows, fighting amongst themselves. The mood is light within the groups, but the individuals look like they've just been to their favourite pet's funeral. The walk slowly, not taking their eyes from the grey paving stones passing underneath their feet which are covered with plastic bags, newspapers and week old chewing gum. Hands in their pockets, they could be the poster child for Depressed Weekly.
The traffic moves on and we're on our way again. Every parked car looks battered. Old. Scraped paint, scratches, missing wind mirrors, smashed registration plates. The journey continues. Passing the houses now. Smashed windows, some boarded up, others left the way they are, entries for the howling wind. Each house is identical save for the faded paint on the front doors. I don't even see any numbers on the houses.
On the move again, past the hospital. A sea of parked cars, ambulances and wheelchairs awaits us. The bus pulls aside as a police car rushes past, sirens blaring. Not a rare sight on this journey.
In town now, past the endless roadworks which seem to tear up the roads on a weekly basis. They slow us down considerably. This particular bus goes right by my house, so I say my goodbyes and remain seated as my friends get off and go their separate ways. The bus is almost empty, but I know the next stop will fill it with the elderly. Sure enough, the bus is soon packed. Out of town now, past Newcastle University. Or is it Northumbria? I don't even know. Wait, probably Northumbria, I decide. The students are all baggy pants and bright t-shirts. Most have probably never worked a day in their life.
Lots of modern, sporty or fancy cars out. Personalised plates are two a penny, but require a codebook to work out. What's the point in spelling your name if people won't even recognise it because of all the code talk you've had to use to keep the price down? 5TUD is the worst I've seen. Congratulations, you've just announced to the world that your manhood is inadequate.
Past a lake, past another hospital. Past more police cars, rushing to the scene somewhere. The traffic is pretty bad now, we're stopping and starting constantly. The school kids filter in, more and more with each bus stop. They look like year 7s, but it's so hard to tell when you're not at school yourself. They laugh and joke. Through my headphones I can't pick up the words, but they're trading some sort of cards. Look Japanese. It reminds me of the crazes we had. POGs, football stickers, Nintendo cards.
They're kicking an empty bottle around now, one which has been rolling up and down the bus since the start of the journey. It hits my foot. I look up and the kids are trying their best to look innocent. I shoot them a look and go back to my window. Past my old work building. I see the endless lines of drones coming out, and the poor saps whose shifts are just starting and are going in. Glad I've finished there, my contract up, but the meeting today with the head of the college brought home the fact that I'll miss the money.
Going towards Four Lane Ends metro station now, where all the busses come and go. The sun has drawn out the school kids, instead of the cold sending them straight home. They sit on the small patches of grass, jumpers and ties off, bags by their sides. They throw sticks at the windows as we go past. One hits my window and gives me a slight jump as it snaps me out of my train of thought. We pass an arguing couple in a car park. The course of true love never did run smoothly.
Going past my old high school now. God I hate that place. They told me at work never to give them as a reference ever again, since the head of 6th form gave me a terrible report. I passed my A levels, so what if I was rarely in and rarely on time? What do they want from me?
The bus stops are getting closer and closer together. The bell is pressed, but nobody gets off when the driver stops. He shouts at the kids if anyone is getting off. The kid standing says no, he wants the next one. The driver hisses at him to sit down. Not very polite.
My stop is next. I stand, my head almost brushing the roof of the single deck bus. I tower over the school kids, despite being average height. Was I ever that small? I thank the driver and walk down my street.
Everything passes you by when you're in a deep discussion about what's on TV that night, or where you're going on a night out. I prefer to just sit and stare at the world as I pass it by. Twenty minutes on the bus gives you more insight to the real world than any twenty minute speech or video.
Seemed a bit...well, boring. And some cumbersome phrasing at the end, too.
What's the matter Mo, why've you gone all serious on me?
What's the matter Mo, why've you gone all serious on me?
*sniff*
El Blokey wrote:
> What's the matter Mo, why've you gone all serious on me?
--------
I just have a lot on my mind. Can't suddenly go into rant-o-mode with my mates, so I just sit and type.
> What's the matter Mo, why've you gone all serious on me?
--------
I just have a lot on my mind. Can't suddenly go into rant-o-mode with my mates, so I just sit and type.