In America, the bus ride is where one thinks. The rest of the spaces you might inhabit are too caught up with their own doings, that they end up neglecting thought. Neon signs flash beneath the widening sky, painting their colors on the set pedestrian paths crisscrossed by a thousand yellow taxis, and you scurrying between them. No one stops. Within the bus, because your motion is guaranteed by (the bus company, the driver, balance sheets, insurance), you have the luxury of thought. Everything else vanishes past your sight like so much preset scenery. To your right, a billboard you do not notice. On your left, a gas station you were already familiar with. And so on.
Hours pass and the scenery does not change. But you do. In the window next to your seat, your reflection beckons you to reconsider life. It is as if you are changing, even though you know that nothing is really moving. The darkness helps. You can manipulate lights and control your reflection (however much of your reflection you see in the window, at least). Then suddenly a trailer truck whizzes by you. It penetrates your cocoon momentarily. But your reflection is still thinking. In the bus your autonomy is preserved.
What about the others in the bus? Everyone is preoccupied, and friends become strangers, next to one another. Respectful distance is maintained between seats. Still, one of you is responsible for the emergency exit - signaled by the presence of white man-shapes running on a black background, stuck onto the window with an arrow marking egress. The exit sign is where your friend is.
If you are sitting next to the exit proper you will notice a lever beside you. Once pulled, you will not return. But if you observe carefully the tunnel gives way to street lamps, and the street lamps eventually reproduce to become skyscrapers, signboards, peoples. Out of the bus now, you are dodging cars, apartments, pedestrians. You are back in the city.
