4. Buses

"Where's your ticket?" 

I look up slowly, eyes wide, unsure of what to say. I have infact never been on a bus before. My middle-class parents always thought very lowly of busses and I had been told (since I was old enough to read about them) that they were dangerous filthy things. In school they would drive me day in, day out even when all my friends had an aspect of independence they could boast about. And they bought me a car when I was old enough to drive- the very car I have so quite conveniently forgotten at home.

Ah. Oh well. At least I can experience something new.

"Erm. Please could I have one ticket?" I say in a questioning tone of voice, fixing my gaze onto a poster of a man smoking plastered on the front wall.

"A daysaver?" laughs the bus driver, obviously having caught on to my innocence. 

"Yes! Erm... To the Flowerhead train station." 

A red haired teenager clad in a tattered school uniform who is seated at the back of the suddenly deathly quiet vehicle sniggers. The bus driver shakes his mercilessly bald head with a smile. 

"Wrong bus. This one goes to the other side of town." 


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