Bus Boycott

I once took the bus from Manhattan to Albuquerque.

With the money I saved, I bought a pair of purple cowgirl boots that I foolishly took to Goodwill–and frequently mourn.

The journey out was zen-like; we crossed into New Mexico as Aquarius played in my headphones, and the first perfect snowflakes tumbled from the sky.

On the way home, however, there were two arrests at the state border. A woman became suddenly and violently deranged, and we waited again for police. When the bus caught fire, I huddled on the side of the freeway, pledging to fly next time.