Anarchy

Chapter 7: No Lobsters in Maine

What do you call a ten hour bus ride with no AC and a handful of crying babies?
Any guesses? No?

Hell, that's what.
Actual hell.

It was awful; there was a family on board with a set of triplets that didn't seem to understand the word "quiet," the person next to me had their headphones turned up so loud I could practically sing along, and there was a guy behind me who thought it was alright to eat tuna fish in a confined vehicle.

And that's not even mentioning the fact that me legs were squashed up against the seat in front of me and my back aches from trying to find a comfortable sleeping position, which was totally impossible.

Aaand I accidentally sat on my sandwich, so that just made things ten times worse because a smushed sandwich is a sad sandwich. And that's the truth.

So, as you can see, I was a little grumpy upon my arrival.

But not too grumpy that I didn't get a good look at the town as we were pulling in. Now, it's no where near as small as Greensville, but I'd still call it small—and I bet everyone knows everyone else's business. In all honesty, it's kinda cute with all the tackle shops and rustic charm. It looks too benign to "fix my behavioral problems."

The bus rolled through the town, passing houses with pristine window boxes and shops showcasing their respective products, and eventually slowed down to a stop in front of a a run-down storefront with the word "lobsters" hanging above the door. By the looks of it, I'd say it was built back in the Stone Age and no one's cared to do any maintenance since.

With a puff, the bus doors opened and I made my way out, not bothering to bid adieu to my seat mate. I opened the luggage compartment and pulled my suitcase out, looking around.
It's funny. Dad said someone would be here to pick me up. And yet, there's no one here. I closed the compartment and looked around again.
Down the street there was a couple leisurely walking down the sidewalk about a block away, but I figured they weren't here to retrieve me.
Up the street, in front of a small cafe of some sort, several bronzed old men sat out in front, sipping iced tea (at least that's what it looked like) and laughing at a joke of the men had just told. Despite the deep wrinkles in their skin and their fluffy white hair, they seemed lively and at ease. I decided to ask them if they had seen anyone waiting.

Grasping the handle of my suitcase, I started dragging it over. As I approached, they quieted down, their faces turning towards me.

"Hello," I greeted. "Have you seen anyone waiting at that bus stop over there?" I pointed behind me. "Someone was supposed to pick me up."

The men silently smiled at each other, like they knew something I didn't. And that bothered me. I was about to turn around and go back, because they obviously weren't going to help, when one of them spoke up.

"He'll be by in a bit," said one of the men, his voice gruff but his eyes kind.

"Always mixed up that one," said another one of the men, his voice slightly less gruff.

The first man spoke again. "Lobster shop is open. Go ahead and wait there."

"Thanks." I turned around to head back to the shop, but the first man called out again.

"Don't mess with Banks," he warned, giving me a pointed look.  What did he say?

"Pardon?"

"You'll see," is all he said. Then one of the men told another joke and they all went back to laughing and sipping their iced teas, which by now I figured had some sort of alcohol mixed in.