Right on time
In a little more than a weeks time I will be rolling in on that familiar bus to that city where that man lives. It's nerve-racking but it feels amazingly sweet at the same time. I know how I will feel when I arrive at Skavsta Airport next Friday, surrounded by Swedish people with thick accents, in croc-flippers talking way too loudly ‘cause they're so excited about going to London. I know how I will feel when I arrive at Stansted, going through the passport check, looking at their bored faces behind the counters saying "thank you" in their; I'm so pissed off that I have to do this eight hours a day that I just want to slap the passports in your head-voices. When I get out of the airport I will be in a hurry to catch the bus to London and I will be nervous for about an hour that I've taken the wrong one and will arrive at another part of London that I was meant to and miss my bus to Bristol. But I won't. I will arrive right outside Victoria Coach Station, get money from the atm, buy a bottle of water, have a cigarette outside the bus station, go in and wait for the bus. While waiting for the bus I will get freaked out by the pigeons that fly around everywhere. When I finally get on the bus my heart will skip about three beats because I know that in 2 hours I will arrive at that city, passing all the places we've been to and 30 minutes after that... I arrive. On time, as always.
