Ensemble Press
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One day, I got on the bus. | The dreariness of the wrecked old machine weighed on me. | I was 70% sure there was a body on the back seats, there was chewing gum stuck to all the stop buttons, it made a creaking sound like the chassis might splinter if someone said something mean to it, and the driver was impervious to any kind of joy. | And that was just the bus. The driver looked like a skeleton with a beard and sunglasses, wearing dirty clothing, he never spoke at all, and he wouldn't let you on unless you gave him exact change. | I decided to get off, but I couldn't. The bus kept on, finally driving into a foggy marshland populated by the undead. This was my punishment for stealing my sister's pocket money at the age of five. A cautionary tale. | So I got off the bus.

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