The first chapter of my attempt at a short story. This writing style was inspired by my favorite author, Charles Bukowski.
Chapter 1 I got on the bus expecting the regular commute, the usual faces. Everyone is miserable Monday mornings. No one enjoys school, and no one enjoys work, but we all ride there anyways. If at least to fulfill expectations and keep our bodies warm. But along that long route, God blessed our lives with a miserable bitch. “Driver, I only need to ride for like three stops!” The woman’s lips were caked in white. She wore a black beanie and an oversized men’s coat. Unsightly as she was, it was her volume that called for attention. She announced herself, loudly. “I’m just tryna ride the bus y’all! Gotta get home!” No one who rides the B41 is particularly distinctive. The trip to Flatbush and Church is about 35 minutes long. We’re mostly public school students. Black, and some of us hispanic. The adults are tired and don’t wear smiles too often. We were the hopeful. Those for whom retirement was subsidized and death in a coffin wasn’t guara