5:45pm nyc
12:55am richmond
3:55am raleigh

i told myself i would never take the greyhound again. The previous times had been terrible times in my life. Moments of disconnection from life, from the love i thought i held. i’m not a season greyound rider. But it only takes one ride to detest the company. They treat their riders like shit.

Orlando. Build that relationship with yourself. Be able to ask yourself the questions you need to grow. Spend time alone to gather your thoughts.

On the greyound terminal at 4:51am, a mixture of fluorescents and cylindrical fixutres fill the semi-arched room. The grey-brown tile a color primed to absorb dirt. The urinal roped off, the rest holding a backwashed slush. A broken television glitches through attempts to display the day’s itinerary.

I stare at the hound. He runs through the air. Body extended to the maximum distance. Stretch the speed. I don’t know the history of greyhound, nor do I give a shit. When I sit in the terminal of discarded people, the hound mocks me. His grace and agility a reminder of my stuckedness. The greyhound will always breakdown, run late, lack a driver, refuse to transport you in the manner you paid them too much money to.

When you’re stuck in the greyhound terminal, you have to ask yourself how you got into this situation. There is usually a series of mistakes that precede the moment of being fucked over by the greyhound, that almost make you fell worthy of being fucked over, as if your poor descision-making is being rewarded. I want to be worthy of the greyhound.

The greyhound is not fun. The bus and the terminals all feel vaguely unsafe. At 520, the tweaker couple is having a hard time. They’re shaking and crying, fighting and hugging. There’s a frenetic energy that’s collapsing in on itself. They use their too-big white t-shirts to wipe away their tears. I think the greyhound experience is inescapable from voyuerism. The terminal and the bus are public stages. Whatever misfortune and difficulty is being played out in such promximity to others. Everyone’s been awake too long, mixing together in this dingy dystopia.

Years ago, i was at this same terminal, stuck because the driver left and greyhound was unable to find another driver. I had left new york near midnight. The better part of two weeks had been spent bouncing between friends’ couches, waiting for the moment i became an inconvenience. The three weeks before that hadd been spent on tour on the east coast and the midwest.