Buses: Part 1

Essay by spoonman419High School, 11th grade July 2004

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I got on the Troost Avenue bus stop around seven P.M. With me I had a gray sweatshirt and a pair of pants, stuffed into my newly purchased single-strap backpack. Also, I had brought along my toothbrush, and stolen my dad's sole supply of AIM whitening toothpaste. I knew he'd care, but I didn't. I'd be damned if I were going to have bad breath on my venture. In my pocket I had a large kitchen knife, with plastic handle, and 400 dollars in cash. I brought the knife along because of the areas I would soon be in, for I knew I might face danger at any turn. I was taking the greyhound to Texas City. My friend Jared Moble, whom I met on the net, was currently living there. I had just quit my job at a local fast food restaurant, and was fed up with Kansas City.

As an alibi, I told my dad I would be spending the night at my friend Jamey's house, and would not be arriving home until late the next day.

My father's work schedule was complicated enough to allow me to pull something like this off. He went to his first job at nine in the morning, usually got home around five, took a shower and went to bed until around one in the morning, when he woke up and went to his second job until around eight. By leaving at 7:45, my calculations suggested my dad wouldn't know anything was wrong until 1 A.M. two days from then.

I inserted my wrinkly dollar bill into the machine, and got my transfer and quickly made my way to the back. I was very high. I had gotten hold of some K.B. while making preparations for my trip, and had rolled...