The wind was bitter and pulled at his coat. Colin turned his shoulder to it and tried to think about anything other than how tired he was. He bent his knees and performed the short impatient dance that seemed to be universal to those waiting for public transport.
It is far to early-
Down at the far end of the road he saw a bus wearing the right colours pull into view. It was hard to tell if it was the bus he had been waiting for, the numbers still to far distant and his eyesight at the ripe old age of thirty was not what it used to be. The green and cream bus trundled up the road, proudly displaying its route, it was the correct one after all. Rolling to a stop much further behind him than was convenient, Colin did an awkward almost jog to the door which hissed open. Colin was not one to move at a brisk pace.
Built for comfort, not speed-
Behind the wheel sat an all too cheery young man who didn’t look old enough to be let out without supervision, let alone drive.
“Good Morning,” he called happily.
How about you just shut your fucking mouth sunshine and drive the damn bus before Old Col pokes holes in your tires.
That was harsh even by Colin’s standards, not to mention unlikely and impractical. He fumbled with his pass.
That was a bit mean-
No, people shouldn’t be so bloody chipper this early in the morning-
How can you be such a grouch-
I’m you, you pleb, it’s not like this is new news, anyway stop talking to yourself you weirdo. Anyway, I’m off the clock, my customer service personality doesn’t come for free you know.
At this point Colin realises he has been holding his pass for a few seconds too long and the young driver looks a little unsure. He could have said something, a simple hello would have sufficed, or the ever British “Sorry.” Instead he gave the young man a deadpan look of disinterest he had perfected over the years and looked for a seat on the empty bus. He noted four windows were open, that should be enough to circulate the air of public transport out. Avoiding the seat near the emergency door, honestly who wants that kind of responsibility, he chose the seat just before the back step and took out his travel mug. He had almost perfected the art of drinking a hot liquid on a road that seemed designed to test the limits of modern suspension, almost.
Don’t spill it on yourself today-
Shut up, you’re not my real ladder!-
How many times, you can’t use inside jokes when your using your inner monologue-
Sorry Mr Thought Police-
You really are a child-
I know you are, said you are but what am I-
Sometimes, when left alone with his own thoughts, without any kind of supervision or boundary, Colin did wonder if he was in fact sane. He assumed others did the same, but there was always a nagging worry at the back of his mind.
How sure can you really be that others talk to themselves like you do? After all, you have some…expansive conversations with yourself-
Exactly, myself, I know I’m me, I know your me. It isn’t as if there are different people in here.. It’s just like the worst game of Devils Advocate ever played.
The bus rumbles violently over the road, almost spilling the hot tea, it seems that the young, chipper driver fancied himself a rally driver.
I know right!-
You really need to watch your language though-
What are you my fucking mum?