So Long and Good Riddance

Dear 88 Bus,

I'm breaking up with you. It's not you; it's me. I wasn't man enough to love your wild, untamed nature, to appreciate your seemingly random comings and goings as a beautiful expression of freedom and individuality. I need some stability in my life.

Our relationship just wasn't working for me any more. You wouldn't hang out with me unless I paid for the pleasure. And when you passed me on the street and I was otherwise occupied, you'd just speed away with an annoyed squeal and an angry roar. No hello. Not even a wave. Don't kid yourself; I know it wasn't working for you either. Sometimes people just grow apart.

And so I'm moving on. I'll be on my own for now. I don't need to rely on you to get me to work, or to the grocery store, or to bring my drunk ass home. I wish you all the best.

..what's that? Fuck ME? Oh no, no, no, 88, fuck YOU! You want to know the truth? FINE. You smell. Bad. Like ten thousand farts in a tiny elevator stuck on the twenty-third floor of a shit processing plant. And the company you keep? Hot damn! Why the hell would I want to be seen with that motley collection of sweaty drunks and dirty poor people you pal around with everyday? And don't even get me started on all the other men I've seen you pick up, you gold digging tramp! You think I didn't see you give that old blind guy a discount?

And you know what's worst of all? There's absolutely ZERO room in there. That's right, ZERO. IN THERE. I just about had to cover myself in Crisco so I could slip even halfway in. Let me tell you, honey, it was not fun. Even on those rare occasions you'd let me in through the back door. And let me tell you, honey, it sure as hell ain't because I'm too huge.

Damn you, 88. Damn you to hell. To the level of hell that's a never-ending sidewalk clogged with fat people walking side-by-side. To the level that's a grocery store on Sunday afternoon.

We're through. Don't ever speak to me again. I've taken you out of my phone. Bitch.