When I am not able to take the 20:36 bus, the next best combination is taking a latter bus at 21:18 and stepping out midway to catch another at 21:36. It is a bit tiresome, longer, and it is the combination that I tend to complain about, but in all it is not that bad. There is no beautiful scenery along the way, or anything of interest, really. A first bus, big and normally filled to the brim but in which I only need to stay for a short while, followed by a short sprint to catch the next one (which I always arrive to panting and just on time) followed by a longer journey that, on top of everything, still leaves me 10 minutes walking away from home. Not the most ideal after a long day of work, yet at the same time it is perhaps the best part of my day, because it generates the perfect conditions to write.

Since the first bus is short, and normally I have to stay standing, not to mention the sprint right after I exit, it is not worth it to get the phone or whatever I am reading at the moment from my backpack, so I just relax and think, maybe with some nice music or maybe not. It is the perfect think tank. I have no clue what makes that bus so that writing ideas just seem to bubble up, all the time. Most of my best ideas have appeared first on board of it. Maybe is the people, always different. The blind man that always sits in the same spot and uses his phone with just audio. The myriad of baby trolleys and worried mothers. The people that get in from the nearby hospital. The fact that I am normally on my feet, and more alert than if I were slumped on a seat, beaten by the day.

Then comes the sprint. I have to be prepared, pushing my way through the crowd to get to the front door on time to dash out, holding tightly my backpack and whatever is in my coat’s pockets. It shakes things up, gives me some adrenaline and letting me breath in the clean evening air.

Then the 21:36 bus. Small, quiet, with the lights in the rear normally off, and with the same customers, most of the time. With big windows and a nice route through dark highways, silent suburban neighborhoods and a tall bridge to top it off. The perfect environment for writing (if the driver does not have the radio at full volume like right now). I sit always in the same place, with a window taller than me sitting, and I type away at my phone, filled with inspiration from the previous bus a some motivation from the rush.

Last is the walk home. Sometimes a chance to shake me up that lets me write a good ending, more often a bit distracting and annoying, most of the time the perfect moment to listen to the songs I am obsessed with at the moment. Refreshing always. A good chance to be excited about what I just wrote or to release it completely.

All in all, and even though I whine about it often, it is not a bad way to end a day. Especially not so if I get to write.