“Living is a like waiting for a bus, with no posted schedule, that comes once every day. You're not waiting for #168, you're waiting for happiness. Sometimes you catch the bus, but it never takes you as far as you want to go, as far as you need to go. What good is a five minute ride when you have eight hours ahead? If anything, the ride pisses you off; you're zooming at seventy miles an hour, comfortable, air-conditioned and laid-back, when suddenly you get kicked out, into the blazing sun, to carry your heavy backpack the rest of the way. The bus can drop you off at indifference, insignificance, loneliness, anxiety, anger, or depression. Some three-hundred pound thug kicks you off and lets another wanderer on. You walk for hours with an aching back, sweating like a pig, hopeless and helpless, and all the while you're thinking, god damn, this would have taken 20 minutes on the bus. You whine and moan hoping someone will lend a helping hand, hoping someone will reach out to you and save you, but everyone only has trite, meaningless expressions to give. Let me clear up a common misconception: you will never help anybody by telling them to "feel better." "Feel better" isn't an air-conditioned ride. What happens when you arrive, eight hours later, at the end of the road? I don't know either. I doubt you ever get there.” InsignificanceReckful Author:Byron Bernstein