The bus rolled up and opened its doors like a slug sliming up a leaf. I could walk 25 miles to Seattle before the driver even put on his blinker to alert car drivers he was parking there. There are other days I would complain about this, ranting without end, but today I am in no hurry and today there is a puddle of squishy, green, glittering goo all along the side of the road--at least with his pace and precise parking, I won't get it anywhere on me, though others may.
"Oh, gah, yuck!" I look over and Miss Scarlet Odetta is standing at the side of the road by Jessabelle's Boutique, the sticky goop causing her $100, 5-inch red heels to get stuck as she steps back onto the sidewalk. You may not believe this--though I certainly do--but Miss Scarlet Odetta used to pick her nose and eat what she found before her mother sent her off to a proper private school.
"Oy! Ya comin'?" I hear the bus driver yell right into my ear. In the distance I hear sirens--more than likely, police.
"Yes, Thomas, I'm coming." The bus doors seemed to groan with the tiredness of an old man as they opened up in front of me. Though it probably only took a minute for him to park, I feel like I've walked those 25 miles to Seattle and back.