At the Punch Table

Passing by fields of banana farms. The air is hot on the bus and I’ve already switched my seat twice in the hopes of sitting alone. It would be a favour to the others, as the unbearably stuffy air has turned me into a sweaty, stale mess. I managed to switch from long sleeves and pants, to shorts and a t-shirt; the original outfit was chosen in anticipation of a cold, air-conditioned bus as was the case on my last twelve-hour bus journey. I was in socks, jeans, a sweater and a jacket and still found myself shivering, attempting a nap awkwardly across two seats. Today’s bus has decided on a different atmospheric approach; insufferable in the opposite direction.

My travel pillow has not risen to the challenge well.

The girls had gotten off a stop many hours before I. Traveling alone. Finally. But not the sort of confident, positive “finally”. The sort of ” finally” accompanied by the recognition of the inevitable scariness that is solitude. Through the bus window out into the darkness I see the glimmer from a window. One lonely building. Perhaps a farm house nestled in the muggy airs of the rainforest? Will I find work in a house or home?

Lights ahead. How big is Cairns? Will I know its lights approaching the way one would from a plane? Will the bus pull up and alert all of us hazy passengers stuck in our sleepy doldrums via its scratchy bus intercom? Will I wake? Will I find my hostel? The bus is, after all, late due to its two hour break down this morning.

Hope Tumblr doesn't shut down because I posted a video that wasn't mine here... #stopsopa&pipa Here's a fun song with a disturbing video to warm the cockles of your heart and confuse the heart of your cockles.

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