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A bus really does play a one note song. Running exactly the same speed, hour after hour, up the endless interstate, through the tedious boring featureless land, the engine and tires and wind noise all add up to a never ceasing one note song. It lulls you to sleep, which is the saving grace of the whole bus ride thing. Without sleeping through it, I don't know how anyone survives a long bus ride up that valley.

Oh, the first part was exciting. I hadn't been out much, if you get my drift, so just seeing something new, anything new, was a thrill. It was my eighteenth birthday, and my eyes were glued to the window, watching downtown San Diego go by, and the suburbs, and then the hilly empty country as we headed north under a seamless blue Southern California sky.

The sprawl of Los Angeles soon intruded upon my view, all those buildings, all those people, all those cars, soaking in the fetid gray-brown air. This overwhelmed my senses. But still I stared out the window.

I had mostly ignored the passengers on the bus. The bus was near full, but the people were a blur. I hid from them, for I didn't have any right to be there. I didn't even deserve to be out. I avoided eye contact, but so did everyone on the bus, so no one noticed.

Across the aisle from me, a woman and her young daughter sat, reading, ...

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