l33tr

I blinked, and I Was at a bus station.

The scuffed white linoleum reflected the lights above me, and that was all I saw, for my head was tilted downward. I knew where I Was even before I looked up and around, even before I recognized the bustle around me from ten years ago. When I did look up a little bit, I saw a boy with his youth stolen. He wore a grey beanie, a neon yellow jacket, and eyes that said the good things behind them were asleep, probably forever. He shuffled over with a broom in one hand and a dustpan in the other, spotting bits of lint and pieces of candy to listlessly sweep into his receptacle. He swept each bit with an uncaring amount of force, and as I watched him advance through the rows of seats, it took him almost half a minute to retrieve each piece of trash. He was paid by the hour.

He made it to me and my weighty duffel bag, and he was one of the few people that didn't scare me. I lifted my feet to allow him access to the space under the chair, but when I glanced down I realized there was more there than could be handled by one or two swipes, even if they had determination behind them. I got up and he briefly looked surprised as I moved myself and my bag down a few seats.

"Thanks, man." Fog rolled back in as the eyes turned back to the linoleum. "No problem," I replied in his direction.

I sat back down. My seat was one in a line of about fourteen identical siblings, and that row was the second of five counting from the back. In front of me and the smattering of other waiting patrons was a television mounted too high to grab carelessly. Basketball was on. Behind it, the grey logo of the bus line I was waiting for swam in my vision; some things were blurred here, but that was to be expected. All I remembered was that it was grey, and the other details weren't significant enough. Beneath it, the terminal doors numbered ZONE 1 through ZONE 7 that would open on the boarding call were closed and silent.

I looked to my right, and saw another set of eyes that were uncaring in a more unsettling way. A fat man with camouflage cargo pants and a hoodie that listed Japanese cities (one of them was Tokyo) grinned at me. The janitor was languid like a wan cow in a brown pasture; this one was closer to a beady-eyed bug.

"How do you do?" he asked, kindly enough.