Nothing flows today. I've written three sentences describing the NY to DC adventure and I hate every one of them. I can't seem to effectively express the absurdity of boarding a bus and seeing a homemade, and clearly well-used, bong sitting next to the driver's seat. Nor can I properly relate the feeling that by opting to take the China Town to China Town express, Dave and I had inadvertently bartered a pair of front row tickets to our final demise at the cost of saving a few dollars. And, forget figuring out the best way to describe the fear of being jerked awake from a deep sleep by someone yelling "oh, shit!" and have the first vision of consciousness be the right, front fender of the bus missing a mini-van's rear bumper by mere inches. I think New York state plate number ADX-9761 will forever be ingrained in my mind's eye.
Of course, there were the positive moments that would need to be accounted for, as well, such as the game of counting the number of passing motorists who would honk or flip us the bird in recognition of the driver's inability to keep the bus between a set of white lines, a problem that was perhaps compounded by his using the dash as a resting place for his left foot. At last count, there were 14 honks and 4 visual indicators of disapproval.
And then there's the matter of wrapping everything up; I guess I'll just leave it that the adventures will continue in a couple weeks when I head over to Boston and will find myself boarding another death bus.