So she looked 12. petite in small jeans, lank brown locks following down her back. I kept looking at her, almost unapologetically. She was 12 or so. Maybe 13. But she was smoking a rollie. I leaned back and evaluated the scene. Others at the bus stp didn’t seem bothered or were just minding their own business. I needed too.

She almost cut me in two. Left me shocked and slightly intimidated. Her brutish frame masked in a tracksuit brushed past me, deep in thought over the smoking girl. The trailing smooth mop clipped my nose. It smelt clean. I glanced at her chin. It could hurt a fist. The forehead was broad and strong. She was a male.

A bus arrived. Not mine. The line queued patiently. I pondered the man. The change, if it was complete was surely soon. A glaze of make up rounded angles. The line took its time but still waited. The driver played with his console. He was having trouble. Maybe he was Polish like many of the new drivers. He continued playing. They waited and I pondered. The woman got off the bus and sat down on the bench. The queue moved up clinically. The driver closed the door and the woman got out her phone. She rested on here files as she called. He couldn’t find the child explorer pass. I’ll have to wait for the next bus now and hope there’s a fucking bus driver who knows what he is fucking doing. Cos I look like a child. But he couldn’t find the button anyway. Fucking idiot she called him.

My bus arrived. My second of the day. I was first on, just infront of the male. I showed the driver my pass. It was the same driver from the first bus. Wearing the same Lennon dark glasses. I told Lennon he was my last driver. He said he knew.

How?

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