Greyhound is not for the Feint of Heart

When the buses load with new passengers, a collective hum will build. If you listen closely you'll hear the same story repeat. A "where ya from", "where ya headed", will exchange between new seat pairings. The veterans (at least have been around for one additional stop) will make light of the mess they're in, hours or days from where they intend to be. After 15 minutes, the conversations will tail off. Only one or two pairs will continue talking until the next stop. From there, a reshuffle will perpetuate the circle of Greyhound life. There have been a lot of "wild cards" who chose to travel by Greyhound in the past. Just this morning, eight hours into the trip, two Idaho Police officers boarded with the intent of apprehending a fugitive. They briskly walked straight to the back, muttering, "You're not Ramon, you're not Ramon..". When they found Ramon, he didn't put up a fight. A lifetime worth of tattoos were showcased on his arms, legs, and face, including a teardrop beneath his left eye. Needless to say, I was very pleased to see him go.

That's my story for today. I've got to save my battery when I can. There's nowhere to charge it until Minneapolis. Transfers are boom-boom-boom. To give you an idea, I've only had two opportunities to get a substantial amount of food over the last 20 hours because there has only been a vending machine, or I have only had 15 minutes or less to buy fast food.

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