I don't know how I got here.

I woke up somewhere on a bench. I'm sitting. As if I was waiting for something. Something I can't remember. Fist clenched tightly, stone cold. Can't feel them. Can't feel much of anything if I'm being honest. Something moves towards me. I look up, blinking the little white dots away. It's a bus. I don't know where it goes but I get on it anyways. It's dusk. There is no one else in the bus except for the driver. A man in his fifties, black hair freshly dyed, slicked back with a sticky coat of gel and a thick mustache you'd think only exists in the movies. I think of greeting him. I haven't taken the bus since summer o9. I think this is still what people do. The smell of cheap beer and old smokes hung thick in the air. I try to go for something but my voice croaks- I nod instead. He ignores me almost immediately, slamming the doors shut with a sharp hiss and a heavy thud. I sit near the middle. I tried resting my head against the window but each vibration pressed deeply, the tremor sinking into my skull, faint but maddening. Almost giving me a headache. No time passes. The driver doesn't stop, there is someone in the back of the bus. I see him like a black dot in the corner of my eye. He was always there. We're still riding on the highway. The snow whips around the bus. Ah, yes. It's winter now. I forgot to write for a while. I was tired, I don't sleep much. I still find myself wandering around. Though, I wish I were wearing warmer clothes this time. Shoes at least. We're in the middle of nowhere. Are we still on the highway? I get off the bus. The doors crashing together, the hiss of air choking into a harsh, final slam. It's 5am now, almost dawn. I can see the house. Its presence, physical, pressing in from all sides, heavy and inescapable. I am back home. I don't know how I got here. All the lights are on and the bus is gone.