The cacophony

The worst time to be on Bus 38 has to be around about 3pm. I assume that it is around this time the young and the restless end their studies, hitting the roads to get back to Mum’s food and at which time they are keen to demonstrate their wanton indiscretions to all and sundry.

Today, they were at their bellicose worst – loud voices, popping gum and wild uncoordinated scrambles – all over the bus like worker bees suddenly disturbed from a mid-winter slumber.

I could only sigh, raise the decibel output on my iPod a few notches and settle back in my seat. So much for Bus 38.

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