The yellow school bus was certainly a prison bus to me. It amused me in a strange way: does anyone else not notice that I’m being kidnapped every single morning? No, they didn’t notice and more shamefully they did not care that I was being transported from slumber to middle school. 

I was being more bemused by the view and flight of the bus. What a great perspective; just the appropriate height of a low flying raptor, feathers splayed and down shifting. The rumble of the diesel engine and the bounce in the back section of the bus. The window had a unique frame: so ample and panoramic as if to tease: take it all in kiddies because you are about to be sequestered to little plastic chairs for an absurdly long time as the day ferments and evaporates.

The return trip had less of less: everything was depleted even the bus, as if it had loafed all day and had too much donut induced glutenitis. Everything was obnoxiously literary and nature had less interest in even teasing the eyes. The number on the side of the bus now stood out glaringly when before it squiggled: inmate 0229 now returning to barracks. 

The word blasé was invented by some American middle school kid on his way back home in a yellow calamus bus. The raptor was gone on the return and it was more like a big awkward flightless Dodo bird (loping and knowingly soon to be extinct). Every stop to poop out kids was a stab and a delay to the inevitable: how to get out of the ferment mind and extract some little bit of joy from the day and avoid homework.