Читать книгу Execution Plan - Patrick Thompson - Страница 8

I did want my car back. You’d know why, if you’d ever been on the 256k bus. It goes every fifteen minutes on average, apparently managing this by running every two minutes at three in the morning, when there’s no one at the bus stops, and once an hour during daylight hours. All bus passengers have a look of despair, forlorn pale things counting their change in the petrol fumes. Women with six children occupy entire decks, men with Elvis haircuts and their hands in their pockets sit next to you and breathe like donkeys. Everyone smokes rollups. At every other stop someone gets on with the wrong change. They go from seat to seat asking if anyone can change fifty pee. No one admits that they can. Everyone looks out of the windows. Everyone puts a bag on the seat next to them.

A boy with cropped ginger hair and an idiot expression sits in front of you, one seat to the left, with his head turned around, staring blankly at you the whole way home.