Reflections: Riding the Bus

As the sun rises, the bus winds southward from Frisco to Breckenridge. The fringe of Dillon Reservoir is consecutive frozen waves of once lapping water. Just beyond the edge of the lake the flats widen; Ten Mile Range swings out to the west and the West Ridge of Keystone area drops back into the east. The road slithers along the middle of the flats across which sun spills.

I try not to be bothered by the body heat of the sleeping, hooded man next to me. I can feel his warmth all along my left side, permeating through our heavy winter coats. Then I remember we have probably both lived in countries where bus rides are much much more, shall we say, demanding.

I think, “this is just fine,” and settle back into my seat as sun rays pierce the winter road filth streaked windows and shines directly into my face, warm and blinding. I decide to open myself up to the day…

At this precise moment someone, somewhere, eeks out a greasy “I’ve been sitting on this one all night” fart. It is unpleasant and only gets thicker. I bury my nose inside the spine of my book, inhaling the pages as I feel the odious odor prying at my pores. I suspect the offender ate some sort of spicy sausage recently. Possibly chorizzo?

What if it was the guy next to me?

Um, hey there buddy; Find something tasty?

Nah, I would have felt it…

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