13-October-2009 7:02AM

With avid delirium, the autopilot kicks on and the mind checks out; so much so that if I didn't know any better I may have teleported to this very spot. I rustle about with my briefcase's zippered pouches, which for whatever reason were left open, the jailed contents just itching for the chance to escape due to entropy's constant debilitating pressure.

The bald guy sitting behind the glass rings in a stop at the virtual beginning of the route, but the driver disallows his exit from the rear door. The bald guy is almost too late, realizing that this delay isn't, more likely a permanent condition. The last of the passengers enter in, the door hisses closed, the bus starts to roll and the bald guy just reaches the cockpit.

"But I wanted to get off here," he murmurs to the driver.

The bus jerks to a halt, and the bald guy is last seen moving away into the pre-dawn darkness under the orange sodium-lit illumination.

Not much else occurs, just the usual movements of purse straps removal from shoulders, chapstick applied, cursory glances cast, various literary works scanned, yawns administered by bodies to surprised consciousness, my own entourage elbowed by a woman who squeezes into a side-facing row between me and and an annoyed huffing female when a whole set of seats are just a step away thusly forcing the annoyed female to succumb to her own interpretation and very deliberately and indiscreetly remove herself to some second-to-last forward-facing row.

You know, a minimum amount like that.