heavy sound followed by smoke, slowly turning wheels and old machinery, a blue metal box, plasticized on the outside and crowded with people within, the air in it full of what we already know: tired people going to work, hands full of smartphones and heads full of uniformity. some trying to minimize the conversation with others, others trying to start one in a sharing situation. Looking through the smudged window; wiping it with your sleeve so you’d get a clear view when there’s actually nothing to see except empty land, broken road signs and a plain white line. sometimes you’re hungry; sometimes you’re sleepy. sometimes you read headlines over people’s shoulders. sometimes there’s an empty seat. most times your ankles get sore. but one is for sure: there’s no getting out until the driver opens the door.