It's not even Monday

I hate pre-9am travel. I can't stomach eating breakfast before I head out into the drudgery of other pre-9amers: soulless uncaring community.

There's no joy of life standing waiting for the bus. Not even the birds care to sing for me today, odd how I notice when it never occurred to me before.
No touch, no smile, no talking as I swipe my pass.

I use this time to catch up on the world events, work emails, whatever. The only time I get to read the books I bought fithteen years ago. It's Tales from Earthsea a classic fantasy I must read. I love fantasy. Living an hour twenty three mins each morning in someone else's works is a dream. 

Godssake people are deathly quiet this morning.

Must be the hum of the diesel engine drowning out their voices. I see their mouths moving. Faces deep in screens. I prefer real pages. But silence here nonetheless.

A woman gets on with her baby. She wasn't here yesterday. She''ll lose herself in here. Her baby is crying, a shrill voice louder than this deafening silence. Gods I'm awake now kid!

Felt like I was drowning, all this time, and I've just come up for air. Why isn't anyone else reacting? Why is no-one paying attention? She's been on too long, that mother, her voice has been swallowed and the baby cries. It knows.

Gotta get off this damn bus.