Single Serving Wendy
Buses are strange things. Last Thursday, I slept at "hotel greyhound" from midnight to 6am on a bus to Plattsburgh and arrived relatively bright eyed and bushy tailed, enough so that I was good company for the friend that I was visiting and didn't feel like I'd been up all night. For all the tossing and turning I'd done, the 6 hour bus ride had been fairly uneventful, and everyone kept to themselves.
After two days seeing my best friend off from college (so to speak, he graduates in 2 weeks) it was time to head home, and I didn't have the luxury of overnight travel this time unless I wanted to go straight into work from the bus Monday.
Immediately, we were delayed more than an hour by our bus, which was stuck in customs at the Canadian border.
I should preface this story by telling you that I stick out like a bit of a sore thumb in Plattsburgh. I was the only one there that I saw wearing any black at all, and due to the fact that I kept my hoodie on the whole time to keep from freezing, I was pretty much all clad in it the entire time I was there.
Standing out in the parking lot, waiting for the bus, I wandered from the sun to the shelter a few times as the weather changed (it fluctuated drastically for my entire stay). After a few trips back and forth, I noticed a girl walking towards me. I was moving towards the shelter of the bus port, and she changed direction to match.
I turned and smiled, which is my default reaction whenever I notice someone on a collision course.
"Can I ask you a question" she said in a pronounced southern drawl. She sounded like Tate, a friend of mine from Texas, did when he first arrived in NY.
"Sure." I said, somewhat apprehensively. I was half expecting a "why do you look so weird" or "do you war-ship say-tan?"
"What kind of music do you listen to?"
