Bus of dreams
One thing about commuting via the bus that I truly love is that I can just drift off into my own thoughts. Some people prefer to drive every day to work, a thing that I just don’t understand, so I prefer the comfy rear corner of the bus with just me and my thoughts. Granted, sometimes, I am a boring individual, so I bore myself with my thoughts and just fall asleep.
But those other times, my imagination just takes off. It’s like I am a five year old again. But the cool thing about it is the fact that rantings of my imagination have the color and depth of an adult.
Today I was sitting on the bus wondering if other people are the same way. If up and down the rows of people on the bus, if each one was in their own world, with their own superheroes, their own adventures, their own outcomes that satisfy their desires in this world.
Then my imagination kicked off. Without warning, backstory, or any sort of prepping, I imagined all those people projecting little microcosms of their worlds around them. The old guy two rows up suddenly is reading the paper in a superhero costume, and the lady next to him looking out the window is dressed like an astronaut.
Before I knew it, I was on a bus full of other people’s dreams. I looked down at that point at my own clothes, and realized nothing had changed on my end.
What a dullard I am. Even my own imagination can’t make me a character… I always end up as the narrator.
Ha.
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