I ran to the bus like a mouse with ears stuffed full of cotton. Head ducked but alert. I let myself be overwhelmed by confusion. Somehow I stopped the bus with my mind. And when the doors opened the driver shouted surprised at me, like I’d burned him or fell down drunk at an important function.

“No! You need to wait over there, sir.”

I can’t now, it’s embarrassing.

On the bus I read Breece D’J Pancake’s “Hollow” until the last possible moment and then I darted up to the front door because I’d forgotten we were stopping. I watched the same middle-aged woman walk from the bus to her house next to the bus stop. A girl who saw me run up to the wrong bus followed me across the road and then turned down her own street. I have seen her turn that way before.

Now my neighbourhood is full of spies.

I wanted to turn to the girl while we waited in the station and explain the situation to her but I couldn’t see her too well on account of the fact that I need glasses. She could have been so many people. In all honesty, I thought she was somebody else.

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