Small Town Subculture

M on the bus,
she’s a strange one.
Some days she doesn’t
say a word to me,
some days she acts
like I’m her best friend.
She calls my headphones “ears”
and compares me to her daughter.

The cute driver with the tattoos,
do you remember him?
He’s got a wife and five kids.
I know, that surprised me too.
He seems to be able to read
my mood as soon as the door opens.
He remembers my name,
probably because M talks about me.

There’s another M.
He’s kind of into me,
which is weird.
I find nothing likeable about him.
He’s slurring if it’s later than 5 PM.
Plus he wears a Ducks jersey,
if I liked hockey, I’d be a Kings fan.

Then there’s C.
He’s twenty two
and he’s got a beard.
He’s usually covered in grease
and worried about his hair.
I can’t say his name out loud
when I talk to him.

The people on the bus
go “blah blah blah”
“blah blah blah”.
The people on the bus
go “blah blah blah”
all through the town.

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