The Long Ride To and From

Every day the same routine. Every day the disappointment of seeing the latest batch of gobshites dressed in all black standing at the next bus stop. The constant hearing of ‘lad’ while the girl in front has her ipod on so loud she might as well take the earphones out so if we have to listen to her truly awful tunes we can at least listen with some clarity. The rain forever trickling inches from your face on the other side of the rattling window. The same grey tones above and the same boarded up houses that makes up the landscape as we’re caught in the same traffic jam as yesterday due to the same road works as yesterday. The same dull groan of the engine as it tries to continue after picking up another gobshite, group of school kids who whisper louder than i can shout or after another stale lager smelling smack fiend tries to get on with a discarded supermarket receipt or ticket from 1997. The same feeling of relief as the parasite on the back seat finally figures out the meaning of ‘push’ and dings the bell… only to be replaced with another one of his lids or another group of school girls who ‘aren’t assed if everyone can hear me’. The same border line alcoholic that sits next to me instead of in front. The same surroundings when i realise i’m home and ring the bell before asking the miserable soul next to me to let me out as he uses a pole, rail or person as support. The same feeling of escape when my size 8 rubber soul embraces the pavement. More of the same tomorrow.