The Last Bus
How often have I walked these fields, and yet I hadn't seen it until now. Peeling paint, dim yellowish coloration, and the altogether broken-down shell commanded my attention. I approached to find bird droppings coating windows in various states of disrepair. What the Old World would've called seatbelts were now frayed husks connected merely by wires of long-rusted metal. How did it get here? A fracture? Had it something to do with the Reconstruction? Regardless of my wonderings, all I could do is stare at it.
The screech of my radio snapped me back to reality. They would have to know about this.
I pilfered a tire lying next to the structure before taking my leave.