by Nic Olson
Fort Wayne to Montreal.
I’ve met a Nepali woman who moved to NYC speaking no English. I met a dude from Pittsburgh who had a long ride home to really hone his ‘sexting’ abilities. I met a young Canadian couple of Indian heritage who traveled to Cleveland just to see the Cavaliers lose by 18 points to the Celtics. I sat next to a girl from Alaska, who lived in California, who had a certificate in Holistic Nutrition, or Holy Nut-Friction or something, a racist hippy joining the army to take advantage of their schooling programs. I sat next to a 19 year old girl who went on a 70+ hour journey from Tacoma to Schenectady to visit her boyfriend, who had obviously lost her mind on the last eight hours of her trip.
All in twenty four hours, and I still have to cross the border. Likely, the most eventful part yet.
A single hour of sleep, a WiFi signal that travels with the bus, three apples, a bag of granola, two teas from Dunkin Donuts, and one sore ass. The sum of these is: a French couple frenching in front of me, the chance to watch period one of game three, and two hours until Montreal.
The bus does no less than amaze me every single time. No exceptions here. Mr. Greyhound, let’s do it again sometime.