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The Late Night Bus.

Midnight at the bus station, here I wait surrounded by drunks and late night revellers. The girls in their flimsy skirts and tops draped around lads in jeans and football tops, all too wrapped up in each other to care about the non-descript man standing in their midst.

Across the road a scuffle breaks out between a shaven headed guy and a young man in a suit, their friends watching and too engrossed in taunting each other whilst eating their kebabs and burgers to either break up the fight or join in. It soon peters out to a pusing and shoving match that allows the combatants to walk, or should that be stagger away with their pride intact.

I've seen it all before, this is a mild night. Fridays are worse, that's when they seem to want to spend their weekly pay on alcohol in four hours of drinking, I never could understand that myself espescially as I never drink more than a glass of wine at Christmas....ahh well, each to their own I suppose.

The sound of the seven litre engine is music to my ears, the bus draws to the stanchion where I and the others wait and with a hiss from the air brakes it stops it lumbering ride with the grace of a drugged elephant.

I wait for the few passengers to get off, two old men that work in the local printing press off to start their night shift. I will see them again at 7am for their trip home. Being at the front of the drunks and young couples who don't even know their new lovers and probably won't know in the morning either, I greet the debarking driver.
"Cheers John, have a good night and see you same time tomorrow yeah?"

He smiles as he looks along the line of waiting passengers,
"The bucket and bleach is in the usual place, looks like you're going to need it tonight...again."

I smile in reply as he walks away to his wife and warm bed and prepare to greet my passengers on the late night bus.

Learn more about this author, Ian Yates.
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