I have decided to revert back to my primordial madness which stems from my lack of understanding of anything relevant except to myself and the few imaginary friends I have gathered about.
The bus stops here, there, and down the street, picking up vagrants, the unwashed masses of ignored society, the sleepers, the dreamers, the American soul lost in a sea of acidic backwash from industrial giants.
I sat in the back, my hands in my lap.
I was singing inside my head, a song I heard the night before last year would begin.
"Dream? The Dream? IT'S DEAD!" an old man screamed at the front of the bus.
Where were we heading, this group?
Anywhere but here?
My stop was next.
Or was it?
I couldn't remember.
There was a woman ahead, in a black short dress, showing her knees to the world as if that was the thing to do.
Was it the thing to do?
Didn't really even care, there she was.
Her eyes were looking down towards the ground, maybe looking for happiness that wasn't there, and the best she could do was a piece of dead, brown grass blowing to the side by a howling wind.
"The dream, man, the dream is dead and what are we doing? Riding on a bus to....WHERE THE HELL ARE WE GOING?" the old man kept screaming.
Where was the driver?
The driver was a program inside the steering wheel, waiting for a click from somewhere, stopping on a dime, waiting, then moving on again.
The steering wheel had been replaced years ago with a sign that read, 'Correct change only please'
The future of the world as built by Popular Science 1932.
Sidney, my friend, who was now dead, but I thought of him a few times each year, would laugh each time he read the sign.
"Why?" I asked every so often but he would just shrug and keep laughing.
The world was a mad place, a better place for it, but still a mad place, a lunatic land, filled with mud, sludge, puss, chocolate ice cream and cake, all mixed together and served in a cup.
"$1.95!" the man behind the counter says, pushing it towards you.
You pay, happily, because it's the thing to do, expected for you to do.
You do not drink it, but carry it along with you, to give it to someone else, pass it along.
Was I ever part of the in crowd?
Was there ever an in crowd?
There may have been, sometime, way back when, when we didn't care.
Now, here I sat, all alone, watching the road stream by, the world moving by, inch by inch, feet by feet, slowly rolling across my mind, throwing itself into the thought pattern.
It is at this point when I decide to become just like the rest of my family, insane, and hence this is where the story becomes really strange...