There are eight people on the bus. The driver, me, an old lady, three teenagers sneaking drinks from beer cans hidden in paper bags, and a couple who are so intent on making out they're oblivious to all else.
The world's going to end in twelve minutes. Don't ask me how I know.
I wondered where I was going to be when it happened, and I guess this is it. I could pull the cord, get off at the next stop, but what would be the point? Maybe if we pass a bar… I wouldn't mind having one last drink.