Travel By Greyhound

There's something about traveling by Greyhound bus-- in a way, the people feel more genuine. There seems to be a sort of shared understanding among passengers, the feeling that "I'm on the bus and you're on the bus and it's not that great but we'll get there eventually."

There's the generosity-- one man was sharing out his french fries, and when I was done with my Wendy's drink, I gave it to another guy so he could have a cup to spit in.

There are plain families; a father waving goodbye to a wife and baby daughter, and a tough-looking guy being berated by his mother who was dropping him off.

I think it comes down to this: people traveling on a Greyhound have nothing to prove. There's no point in trying to impress with fine clothes or advanced technology-- you're on a Greyhound. There's no point in acting street-smart or savvy-- you're not at home, and nobody else on the bus is either. 

It's with this spirit that Greyhound travelers stand in clumps outside gas station convenience stores, smoking cigarettes and eating bags of chips. You're coming from somewhere and going to somewhere else, but nothing is going to make that bus go faster-- you might as well share those fries.