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by beginningstoendings

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The bus.

The express one with very few stops that’s always really fun to take on wet, rainy days.  It’s always far more crowded when it’s wet out (Vancouverites are wimps and can’t handle driving in the rain).  The windows are fogged up and the air is dense and moist.  I’m heading back to school and though I didn’t experience another speed limit incident I’m feeling irked and out of sorts.  I think I might punch this girl next to me (the one with the IPod blasting some Top 40 bullshit) if she rests her fat kneecap on my thigh again.

I’m so alternative.

I hate popular music.  If I had my music with me I’d be playing something that nobody on this bus has ever heard of: something sad-core with emo overtones and alt-country influences.  Something with feminine vocals and masculine instrumentals.  Something that would make everyone think, “boy she’s so interesting, so underground, I’ve never heard that music before…” Except him.  He would know what I was listening to…