I'd long since lost track of the time, and I could feel every jolt of the uneven road shoot up my tail-bone. I gazed through the frosty glass of the bus window, counting snowflakes - trying to ignore the incessent mewling of the cat beside me.
I wish he'd shut up.
I'd forgotten his name, even though he'd told me not five minutes ago. I also couldn't remember where he was born, what his childhood was like, what he did for a living, why he'd moved, why he was on the bus, why he started talking to me. He probably even told me why he was wearing a dark red shirt with black diamonds on it. He spoke too quickly and never blinked, never broke eye-contact: it was unnerving.
I didn't offer him much. He struck me as the sort of animal that considered you a friend if you didn't leave whilst he was talking about himself. How dearly I wanted to. Every word of his blended and congealed into a horrific droning noise and every damn snowflake looked the same.
Finally the bus slowed - my stop. I smiled and shook the cat's paw warmly. Promised I'd meet up with him for lunch or something whenever he's in town, and write him letters whenever he's not. Promised to not abandon him like so many people probably have done already, although of course I didn't say it quite like that. I was a little mystified as to how someone so warm and so honest could be so completely unlikeable.
I hope he gets cancer.
I stepped off the bus and strode towards the picturesque little town I was about to become a part of.
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