My Journey Home
Today I was kept back in work an extra half hour because the place was so messy. This turned out to be the perfect amount of time to give the sky a heads-up, so it could start raining the instant I left.
When I came close to my bus, I saw it pulling out and as exhausted as I was, I sprinted past it and got it at the next stop. Sprinted; in a fucking leather jacket, wearing loads of layers and with a heavy side-bag on.
The bus was so stuffy with fogged up windows and drunken junkies down the back; and anybody who knows me, knows I’m practically the poster boy for motion sickness. I felt like shit, so I closed my eyes and turned on my iPod.
Most of the journey home was fine. The motion sickness was starting to fade and my clothes had dried up a bit… when I suddenly smelt sick. I opened my eyes and a river of sick was flowing down the bus from the back where the junkies were. I was a few stops from mine so I went downstairs.
10 seconds later, a stupid drunk junkie-woman fell down the stairs, across the floor, hit her head on the window and puked all over the place.
It was starting to flow towards me… my bus-stop was a approaching… the contents off my stomach were counting down to lift off. It was like a 3-way shot in 24.
The bus doors opened and I fucking dived off. When I got a few gulps of fresh into my lungs, I looked up and saw gardaí everywhere with 2-handed machine guns stopping every car on the road.
A plane will probably crash into my house tonight
