Dan hated public transport. He hated lots of things but, in fairness, that was his job.
Spit some of his bitter, furious bile on to two sides of cheap glossy paper and watch it lapped up by the very idiots it was directed at. Lather, rinse, repeat.
And then occasionally, just to ease the monotony, his boss- hah, his new boss,
who thought punctuated surnames made him look edgy rather than like a brainless twat who couldn’t reliably remember his own name- would up the torture by making him trek out to various asinine,
drugs-and-electro music ‘festivals’, allegedly in the name of research. And he knew how much Dan hated travel.
The man beside him was reading his article.
Dan had been watching him for a while, even before they’d got on the bus.
He appeared to be a couple of years younger than Dan, and judging by the heavy-looking flight crates he’d helped the driver heave into the hold Dan guessed they were headed to the same festival,
albeit in a different capacity. Was he a DJ? It seemed likely, especially looking at the almost comically large headphones he was wearing around his neck.
Read the rest via the link in the description!