About two years ago, I was on a Greyhound bus to L.A. with my mom. The bus had five pine tree air fresheners hanging near the bathroom. Smelled like shit and strawberries. Even then I wanted to be able to express the feelings I had from riding Greyhound. I told myself that maybe in the future I would be able to write about it properly.

Two years has passed.

Nothing has happened.

When I think back to that summer, the only thing that has changed is that I have more people to distract myself with. Not friends. Just people. People who I occasionally share a good time with, but ultimately care about me as much as they would a complete stranger. The only difference is they know my name.

How many people out there have thoughts that are unseen by the world due to sub par writing skills? It can't just be me. . .