Vivid Fatigue Pt. 1

The hollow station became wider as it emptied out. I slid a homemade, zigzagged bookmark on the tattered edition of Catcher in the Rye. As the bus arrived, I packed the thin novel in my backpack, temporarily robbing Holden Caulfield of his escape as I made my own.

Weary t-shirts, hoodies, and jeans travelling alone made their way out of the terminal and into the joyride. I carried my oversized, blue duffel bag to the station agents as they dumped it inside the bottom of the bus along with the rest of the anonymous baggage.

I walked up the steps and showed my fifteen-hour trip ticket to the driver. I took off my backpack and slumped down a chair as my shoulders felt light once again. A tall, dark man wearing a black hoodie with the hood on sat next to me. He diverted his face away from me and pulled out a crumbled piece of plastic paper with mystery crumbs. He used his fingers as tentacles, quickly consuming the contents of the baggie.

I felt his nerves settle as I pulled out the tangled headphones from my pocket. His head fell forward and rested comfortably on the seat in front of him. My music player resembled a digital, black harmonica. I turned it on, put my headphones in, and closed my eyes.