I was headed for Chicago. I wasn’t sure I expected things to be different there, but I had to give it a try if for no other reason than to hope a little longer. Or, failing that, to at least reach the endlessly evasive mind-set in which I could stop making shitty, self-involved quips like “hope a little longer.”
I had an old friend there who said I could stay with him until I found a job and place of my own. I hadn’t seen him since high school and was hesitant since he was precisely the type of person I wanted away from—a deep family pedigree, pretentious, uptight, and, above all, successful where I had failed. But he was a familiar face when the whole world felt unfamiliar and just about the only option I had, so I took it.
I’d hoped to leave New York by plane but the cost of airfare would have left only lint in my pockets. I considered taking the train, renting a car, even hitching my way across the Midwest, but in the end I bought a bus ticket and left it at that. I didn’t care how I got out. I just knew I had to, and fast.
I boarded the bus on a Wednesday afternoon, soaking wet, out of breath, carrying a green canvas rucksack full of everything I owned. I had three hundred bucks and knew it wouldn’t last long. The bus was half full. I sat adjacent to the only halfway decent-looking girl—modestly pretty with shoulder-length dark hair, brown eyes and pale skin, the feral brows of a twelve-year-old who’d yet to discover tweezers. She wore low-rise jeans and leaned forward as I took my seat and I could see the waistband of her panties. They were black. I closed my eyes and leaned back, took a deep breath, affixed on my face the grin of a man sure of his own luck, and suddenly looked forward to the fifteen-hour trip.