The most tiresome of your routines is waiting for the right bus. You pretend not to hear the dispatcher, while the poor guy tries to convince you that there is enough space inside. Pleading is the bitter herb, your indifference is the ailment. Good thing the tint of your Oakley guises the direction of your eyes, as you read the signage of the bus behind the one in front of you. Who cares if you decide not to choose the undersized and filthy ride? The customer is always right, you quote your Management professor.
With difficulty, you extract the coins from your left pocket. It is plain mercy that you have the exact amount; Bills are cursed every morning. Awaiting the bus conductor is, most of the time, obstruction to a truncated recline. However, this will be shorter because weekends often relish a mitigated road volume. Eons later, the bus conductor appears. To your surprise, the stubby employee didn't notice that you were a newcomer. You took this in as a blessing, but you dreaded its payback because 'God knows Hudas not pay'. You shook your head for utter disbelief in convincing yourself that you could bail the ticket inspector.
The reason why you choose the two-seater is its ability of repulsion. By merely acting asleep and widening the angle between your legs, you could almost take the space away. This is to make sure that you won't be disturbed by some random individual for the rest of the trip.
Beware of the unlimited number of halts. These drivers have mastered the art of feigning deafness, too. They do not hear the protests of passengers who are about to be late. They do not hear the iterative horns of other cars behind theirs. They do not hear the whistles of traffic watchmen. Your estimated jaunt time should have an additional of a quarter of an hour to a quarter less of an hour. You should realize though: this is due to the fact that undisciplined passengers make these bus stops.
The last thing that you should worry about is the unpredictable weather. An instantaneous the sun is up -- ultraviolet scorches the epidermis, next minute is drizzled with precipitation. The nine-tailed fox is crying, isn't she? You cannot afford to get sick in this entirely expensive generation, cladding to cover the parietal and occipital lobe areas would be a useful shield versus forms of migraine and respiratory diseases: climate change is here, to stay.
Alight the ride with a nifty beam. After all, you would never know if someone desirable followed you, beware if it was a burglar.
Thanks to Splice, for allowing me to borrow a few expletives from his manual.