I'm going home, I've done my time.

I remember when I was wee, I used to sit in my dad's car and watch him drive so I'd pass my test first time. No lessons it's all in the eyes. In the end I couldn't be arsed. Upside is I can get drunk. Downside is I take the bus.

Fat semi downs face three weans, one whopper of a pram flings her phone across the bus and weeps. A decent person would intervene. Instead I watch it like any other soap. I never really believed that other people have feelings or at least the same feelings I do. I expect she only cries because she can't find the words.

The inevitable farting contest up the back. Average age 19. They talk about pumpin lassies. One lassie is a 'fuckin donkey' but one doesn't look at the fireplace. Her party piece is shitting the bed. One lad kept going, the other punched fuck out her, the rest fuck her when they're desperate. Who is she? I've never shat the bed so I know it isn't me but do people talk about me like that. Like I'm a repulsive mass of dead nerves, fine for fucking in a drought and little else.


Sometimes I wish I could slaughter that flatulent 'back of the bus'. In fact I wish I could all the time. Something quick and sudden. I'd love to see the look of shock on their faces as they die in the most unlikely of massacres. Years ago I would have wanted to reason with them but I'm tired. I'm always tired. My grannie had rickets, her sisters had smallpox, my mother caught a cold and I caught the bad head gene and an unquenchable desire for sleep.


Two African women to the right. They look like statues. It's not their colour that makes them look out of place. They're clean, quiet and proud looking. The style on the 41 is tired, pasty, dumpy and full of rage with no obvious target. Do try to keep up. Mind you I'll bet they're stenchers like the rest of us. Everyone is a disappointment.

The inevitable pensioners. 'Ye wouldnae wear red tae a funeral'. Well I would but I don't but in. I want off this bus before the 22nd century. 'Ye wid wear the darkest jaiket te huv', 'aye darkest jaiket'. I'd wear the skin of a dead grannie, I think.

Fight with the driver. 'ye dae go tae the Forge'. 'Aye hen only if the bus goes backwards.

That's my cue. Off to wet feet, possible trenchfoot, blisters and French fancies for tea. Just get this shite out of my head. Too much.