Bus tales

The beginning...

I'm sat alone. This feels weird. Feels like all eyes are on me and my paint covered fingers tap tap tapping on my screen. I'm sure I'm ruining their 'peaceful' journey this merry 4:11. The bag, holding the next few presents for my love, cutting my wrist as I write. Damn me and my paranoid thoughts. Why can't I just set it down next to me? Why do I believe this insane screaming voice, claiming that a thief is always surrounding me? Oh well I guess it could be worse. It could be a bag made from actual razor blades, however I doubt that could be any worse than this.
With tales of the theatre blasting through me ears I watch those around me, most zoned into headphones or conversations with the friends they arrived with. Now with the arrival of the talented twenty one pilots in my ear I notice more. Music always changes my environment depending on what I see. So before they are zoned into headphones sulking, now they are on the phone to a loved one or phoning a future lover. It's funny what music will do to you.
Most of the houses here have their lights on for the Christmas period, I notice one or two that didn't have lights and think about the people who live their. Wether they are miserable lonely souls who wish the merry holiday would just disappear or just not home yet to turn the lights on.

God I wish I knew why my brain tries to piece together the story of peoples lives. Take the lady who just left the seat next to me for example. A cold woman who's emotional state was either hidden or just not there all together. The type of woman who when someone bumps into them by accident they tut loudly. Now obviously I don't know her. She could be more emotional than me for all I know but that's how my brain works. Unfortunately I am one of those people who judge a book by its cover. However doesn't mean I won't talk to said book.
My journey is almost sadly over. The bus is announcing my stop.
Bus tale over.
Thank you.