Under the Bus

I haven’t ridden a cross-country bus in many years. But for quite some time I’ve wanted to be exposed to people with whom I rarely interact, people who either choose not to travel in the more modern modes of personal automobiles or in airplanes. I doubt I’d strike up conversations; I just want to see what it’s like to be among them. I suppose I could do it any time I feel like it, but I would rather take a trip with a partner, someone who shares my interest in having the experience. The last time I took a long distance bus trip probably took place when I was just a kid; I rode to Dallas from Corpus Christi and back to visit my aunt and go to Six Flags Over Texas. I must have been only twelve or thirteen at the time. I had an odd experience on that trip, in which an older man tried to put his hands on me and my two traveling companions. I told the driver and the man was put off the bus; I don’t remember now whether he was taken off instantly or removed at the next stop. That sort of danger was, as far as I knew, very uncommon; maybe it’s more common today.

I think exposure to dangerous people increases exponentially when the tone of interchange in society at large gets harsh and ugly. The next four years, under a narcissistic madman who has plans to do nothing less than establish a reckless and dangerous plutocracy, will be among the ugliest I have ever seen, I expect. Maybe the idea of getting on a bus and hitting the road is my way of expressing my desire to just run away. But we cannot do that. Because while he’s “draining the swamp,” he’ll be trying to drain Social Security of our retirement funds and our bank accounts of our savings.

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
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