Manny had never enjoyed the heat. He was conscious that he was perspiring freely as he stood waiting for the coach to arrive. The day had turned humid and sticky. Sweat created patches of damp across his top and around the crotch of his pants, and he would stink of its staleness later. Even though the coach was late to arrive, he was alone when it came. The stop wasn’t far from the prison gates and, as the prison was miles from anywhere, the bus didn’t often pick up fares other than ex-inmates who didn’t have friends or family to collect them. Manny thrust out an arm as the bus approached, bidding the vehicle to halt.
‘About time,’ he grumbled, his voice loud enough to irritate the driver, as he stamped onto the lower of the metal steps that led inside.
The driver regarded him with contempt. ‘I’m right on time.’
Manny recognised the man as one of the self-righteous, sanctimonious lot who sniffed the air haughtily if a convict came within ten yards of them. Manny disliked him immediately. He peered at the driver through the glass panel that had been inserted between the employee and the paying public. It had a plastic grill through which conversation was possible, but the panel itself was amusing to Manny. It was constructed to an extra thick depth, suggesting the company that operated the bus service was scared for the safety of its drivers when they did this run. Presumably they worried in case a man, fresh out of prison, might do something stupid yards from where he’d been incarcerated seconds after gaining his freedom. Manny chuckled to himself. That was dumb. No one would do that. Well, except perhaps Silas the Mange. That dumb ass would start a fight to deliberately wind up back inside. But only because he preferred it in there.
‘How far do you go?’ Manny asked.
‘Paris.’ The reply was curt. ‘Five bucks.’
Manny fished a crumpled note out of his pocket. ‘Here,’ he said, and stuffed it in the money tray before heading up the aisle. He swayed as the vehicle swung back onto the road, but it didn’t matter. He’d let the driver have that one. There was no one else on board, no one to laugh at Manny’s misstep.
Still, it was a shame no one else was around. A companion would have been sweet; someone to wind up to relieve the boredom of the journey. God knew there was nothing exciting about watching the asshole countryside pass by. ‘This ain’t no fun,’ he said. Choosing to settle himself on the rear seat of the bus, he spread his legs as wide and as far apart as possible and studies his shoes while his feet swung left and right with the rhythm of the coach as it churned up the miles to Paris.
Leave a Reply