The Number 30 Bus

Okay. It was an accident. I was out, in public, socialising. I needed to get home. There were no available taxis on Mare Street, London, England. There was however a bus, the number 30 bus. So, I bit the bullet and got on the bus for all of eight minutes. I sat on a Priority Seat. I then walked from Balls Pond Road, London, England to my Flat, London, England, Earth, The Universe.

It was accident. I know I have a cold and I do not want to catch anything else. I also know that buses are not the places for people with wobbly spines, but, I just got the frickin’ bus. The last time I got a London bus, or any bus in fact, was on the 12 August. I was in so much pain during that particular journey, I cried. I didn’t cry today. I am not going to make a habit of it. People are dirty. Before you take offence, I am also dirty for I am a person. But, I got the bus. The number 30 bus. I prefer other bus routes, but beggars and all that.

I do apologise to all those people, well, the three of you, who told me not to get the bus today. I promise, it was a £2.30 accident. Really.

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