dead arm

I’ve been trying to become the aforementioned person.
I’m listening to Pavement right now. I got out of town for a few days and the name-saying voices left my head. I think they were putting something in my water here. Out in a beautiful place in the country, I was drinking very clean water, straight from the sky with no added acid.

When i was in year ten I was presented with a squarish, bright yellow peaked cap. On the front it said BUS CAPTAIN. There was a fuzzy felt n’ velcro exclaimation mark included which made BUS CAPTAIN! or sometimes BUS! CAPTAIN. Installed as a puppet captain, I had no idea what I was suppposed to do. Where anarchy had happily been the order of the day previous, the high school administration had decreed that each bus must have a bus captain and our iron-fisted driver, Wayne, installed me. For the two and a half years before I’d kept a low profile on the bus. I’d worked my self to the left-hand seat three from the back. No one sat next to me.
The pecking order was upset, I’d artificially been placed on the backseat, centre, with my bright yellow cap on and smiling uneasily at the older, bigger, meat-fisted Tech. school kids who’d been ousted.
Wayne made them sit near the middle of the bus.
This was known as the worst bus of the whole lot because of the kids. It went the furtherest distance, to Winchelsea but I got off after about 15mins after it’d loaded on at each of the secondary schools.
Wayne’s only trick was pulling up on the side of the highway, standing up, turning around and giving us all a stern talking to to about how much the bus costs etc. It was only effective when done rarely. The Tech. heathens soon started swapping seats and jumping around. All I could do was go, “oo, um. Hey, er… hey mate”, at little more than a mutter. It got pretty bad and I put myself into exile. I started riding to school – about 10kms, a few hills. It was alright.

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