2002-05-16 - 12:50 a.m.

Taking a long ass buss ride from, say, Boston to New York is dull. But maybe you can make something of it. Maybe you might meet somebody. Maybe you'll read a good book, or catch up on some writing. Maybe you'll be drunk the whole time. Maybe you'll just sleep through it. Maybe someone else will do something interesting and you get to watch, and you can store up an amusing anecdote that nobody will ever hear because you'll forget it once the trip is over. Maybe you won't have to do anything at all, 'cause there's a movie.

Probably, not much happens, though. Every now and then, you might feel a modicum of excitement at the novelty of being on a bus. Leaving Boston, you might try to imagine what someone who is visiting Boston for the first time sees for the last time before returning home.

Then, trees. Book. There's a weirdo bothering someone, but not you. Maybe you go to the bathroom. Maybe you had the foresight to bring an apple with you, or a sandwich, and you taste it.

The couple behind you is discreetly making out. Maybe an argument nine or ten rows ahead, but you can't tell.

Stops in Worcester, maybe, or Hartford, or Providence. These are the only truly significant moments for anyone on that bus. Some on, some off. You get to go outside and smoke half a cigarette, trying to get a feel for the town based solely on its bus depot.

Or maybe you're on an express.

Not many options, though, cause you're moving and you can't get out. You're not even driving.

Frustration.

But at least you have something to look forward to. When you get off, you're in a brand new city. Circulation resumes. You can do things now. You can do stuff you were dreaming about doing the whole time you were on that smelly bus.

People who believe in the afterlife probably have the least amount of fear riding their conscience.