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Chapter Seven The Bus Incident. Hazy, lazy, summer days and the nights which followed. Shape my destiny. As a kid it was playing swing chunk in the garden, washing up bottle, water fights and barbecues as well as a adult, cold beer, sunbathing and more barbecues. Yes, my friends it is a British secure to eat burnt meat out while, seeing your own skin sizzle. I was sitting on the bus past week with sweat beads, forming on my forehead. The heated warmth shined through the window and made me squint. I was seriously in need of an eye patch. This won't come as a surprise for my regular readers (all nine of you personally, password protected) however I'm not a fan of public transportation. I'm not sure how much time it's been because you were hanging on a bus but it's a kin to playing with a more sized chunk of wool, at a lion's den. People measure on the dip and stare at you and the ones that are already seated, do not know where to look. A lot of glaring at the ground or out of the window and nervously checking your telephone for the sixteenth time. Yep, the wheels on your own paranoia bus go 'round and 'round. Some people today think that the front part of the bus is the new back. Hmm, personally I think that the rear of the bus will probably always be where the self confessed, trendy people choose to sit. Nobody can see what you're doing at the trunk. Nobody can see you. Not unless the bus is packaged like cherry jam and then, somebody may be sitting directly across from you. And that is if the fidgeting really begins. I really don't like bus politics and usually I make the decision to play piggy in the center. Music can be heard blaring out of neighboring earphones and shades color the eyes. Society is trying to conceal out, outside in the open from one another. We're all so institutionalized t.. .