Boltbus, or as I like to call it capitalism on wheels.

I’ve bought a Boltbus ticket for $1 and I’ve bought one for $70, I bet there are derivatives being traded on these ticket prices. But all in all it’s always a pleasant ride, you know why? Because there’s a toilet on the bus. In India when you travel by buses you have to schedule each one your leaks and dumps.

As an Asian student living in Baltimore you invariably have well adjusted friends, evidently better at making good life decisions, living in NY and you find yourself escaping to them every chance you get. Indians get NY, it’s a city. After four years of living here, Baltimore is still a mystery to me, if it’s a city why isn’t it always crowded and noisy? Where are all the pedestrians? And where has all the food gone?

I always cherish good bus journeys. When the bus is maneuvering through the narrow city streets you are above everybody else, on a towering giant ambling clumsily dredging the city floors carrying you on it’s shoulders wading through the traffic waves past the graffitied walls and the effusing steam vents.

That is until the big burly guy next to you starts snoring; a deep viscous phlegm-filled tenor snore from the bottom of his soul. This puts you in a dilemma, ordinarily you can tell people they’re disturbing you and more often than not, after either an apology or a swear, they quiet down, but there is not a thing you can do about snoring. Probably this guy is sick, he might have a respiratory disease, may be lung cancer, may be his wife is thinking of leaving him because it is becoming unbearable, may be he’s sick because he works multiple shifts in a factory amongst toxic fumes, may be he rarely gets to sleep this well. I am not going to disturb a dying person whose life is falling apart in his fleeting moments of slumber, not me.