I travel on this bus three times a week and I always sit at the back. Most of the time it smells of wee back here, I just hope that people don't think it's me!
I know that the driver's name is Tom and I know that his wife is expecting their second baby, and I also know that at the moment, she is a very angry lady; but I don't know him well enough to complain about the smell. Anyway, it's not his fault, he probably never comes up here to the back. Mind you, I could do with some company at the back sometimes.

Despite the horrid smell it's still the best place to watch people from. We never actually speak, but we are quite a cosy little family in a funny kind of way; we nod to each other as we get on and off the bus and, I am sure, we notice and wonder when one of us is missing.

The bus always rocks and wheezes as it starts its journey out of the bus station and it always seems in a hurry to push its way rudely into the busy, noisy, morning traffic; and it certainly is pretty bumpy today; Tom is really not concentrating. Maybe it's nearly that time.

Ah, there she is, running for the bus, and late as usual, and this week she has red hair; I don't know. Yes, here we go, she's sat down and started to wriggle; next she'll stare madly out of the window. And then, you watch, at the next stop, he'll get on.

And there he is. Still wearing that crumpled shirt and those torn jeans; he was wearing exactly the same clothes last Friday. I think it's suspicious the way that they always sit rows apart and ignore each other; they never make eye contact. They are having an affair! that's obvious to anyone. But they think we don't know. And he's wearing a wedding ring! Disgusting I call it; and they always get off at the same stop, just by the library. They always go off in different directions but I can imagine what they get up to once they are out of our sight! If they sat here at the back of the bus, I'd give them both a piece of my mind!

As we go through the town, the posh gent with the shiny bowler gets on. It's really comical the way he raises his hat to all the ladies as he bumps his lumpy old briefcase up the bus. A real gent that one; everyone always seems glad to see him. I think he lives on his own; I can tell that by his shirt collars; they are so threadbare, all of them. Poor old chap, I expect he gets lonely all on his own; and he's not much older than me. He's probably too busy all day doing big deals in the city to worry much about his appearance. If he came and sat at the back here, maybe I could offer to look after him. Yes, I could do that. I could turn his collars for him as well.

Then there's the teacher. Gertie I call her; at least I'm almost sure she's a teacher. Well, in that old suit she looks just like Gertie our old headmistress at the Girls' School. She always takes up two seats and sits scribbling away at lots of sheets of paper for the whole journey; she often drops paper everywhere and the posh gent will always collect them up for her. He's a lovely man, that one. She's probably marking homework. You'd think that with all the time-off that teachers' get she would do the marking at home and not on the bus. But she always seems in a hurry, and she always seems in a bad mood. I'm just glad she's not marking my homework! If she was up at the back here with me, perhaps I could help her to calm down a bit. Maybe she needs a boyfriend. Even teachers need company sometimes I suppose. I do.

Ah, now here's my favourite man. The Professor; all neat and natty, wearing his pink bow tie all sophisticated like. I am sure he's a surgeon: with those lovely hands with their long fingers he must be a medical man. And he always gets off at the stop before the hospital; probably walks the last bit to get the exercise. Good for him; not often you see a healthy doctor is it?. But he seems worried today. I hope nothing's wrong at home. No, I expect he's got a tricky operation to perform this morning. Well whoever it is, they'll be ok with the Prof. Mind you, I wouldn't mind him operating on me.

This is it: the library. And there they go, off round the corner. They'll be holding hands as soon as they're out of sight. I feel so sorry for his poor wife. Shame on them!

The bus garage at last, well that's another journey over. City Gent's off doing deals, the Prof will be well into his operation by now and Gertie will be laying into some poor girl who's forgotten her homework! And as for love's young dream, I dare not think what those two are up to!

So, now they've all gone. The trip always seems to fly by when there's something to watch. Now, where's me mop? I'll try again to get rid of some of that pong and get the number thirty-three spick-and-span for this afternoon's run.

I wonder if they ever think about me

[THE END]

© scrapyardsummer 2016