- Besides, I love storms.
- I know. You carry them in your pocket.
Johannes Antonius Wiegerinck
It was a bus that always ran at night, without ever stopping.
He didn't know how he got there. Only knew that now he was on the night bus.
There were no drivers on the road. They were just cars and motorbikes. Trucks and pickup trucks. Everyone wandered at night with their flashlights. And the lights had a life of their own and flew down the black road.
The lights flashed on the night bus, but they were invisible to the outside eye. So no one noticed that the others were engulfed by the lights and the bad music.
The man wanted to go back to what he was before, without knowing if the before was yesterday or the past decade.
He had only four memories.
His mother's saying that because he thinks too much, he was unhappy.
His sister's saying that because he read too much, he was unhappy.
Her boss's saying that because he worked so hard, he was unhappy.
And the last memory.
The most important one and that made his hands shake with emotion. That they were all wrong and he was the happiest man there.
But now he was on the night bus.
Wondering if there would ever be a stop.
Brooding with his four rotten memories.
And destined to do so forever and ever, he looked at the Moon, praying for salvation, although it did not deign, perpetuating itself there, ethereal and infinite.
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