public transportation.

he watched people enter--
the old, the lonesome, the broken;
he was reminded of his own life.

'funny,' he thought to himself;
'these people are in a predicament worse than my own.'
his inquisitive eyes focused upon the obese woman (or is it a man?) taking three bus seats, an ancient man with a sunken face, a teenage mother attempting to corral her three infants into one seat.

he could not understand how the world continued revolving. how can everyone not stop and ignore these people? he was reminded of his aptly named "crappy day" at school. an instant after, visions of his life blurred past in his mind's eye. a few fleeting memories, barely visible, rushed past. suddenly, a plethora of thoughts sprang to his mind. a noose. the music room. a shimmery main gauche, glistening with blood. a pistol, with the acrid scent of gunpowder still lingering. a single, bleeding hole indicated the bullet's point-of-entry; the base of his skull, just like Lennie's--

'we are now approaching Harbor Boulevard and Lincoln Avenue.'

the boy snapped out of his reverie. he quickly pulled on the cord to indicate the bus's next stop. as it pulled into the curb, he awkwardly stumbled across the aisle, hoping that his façade would remain unbroken. exiting the public bus, not a word was uttered; however, all eyes focused on the boy. those simple, innocent bystanders were oblivious to the train of thought he just experienced.