the busses in the rainy night seem different. their inner lights color rooms on wheels that carry them by the stops as if they were an other world. This beaming planet stands still before you for just a few seconds. Its sleepy inhabitants barely rouse. It opens its gates to you: an offering. For a new destination. Some comfort. Long forgotten memories. You make your choice and step in. The driver sits in their dark corner of glowing red runes. You offer a repayment of jingling copper and brass. They extends a veined hand with a rumpled ticket. You cannot read it. You only know it’s been stamped by gliding your fingertip over its surface, trembling over the indented ridges of a place and a date that suddenly feel foreingn. It must be low on ink. The doors to the Outside shut with a weary huff. At last you sit down in an empty seat and the acceleration lulls you into a hugging tiredness. The passed day weighs on your eyelids. It’s alright to surrender.