I was on campus, pulling an all-nighter working on some project. I wasn’t as productive as I hoped, but I made some progress.
In the morning, it was time to go home. My parents directed me to drive a city bus so I could bring my brother back home too. I knew this was a bad idea, but I didn’t realize just how bad until I was already driving down Abraham Avenue. For one thing, I didn’t know how to drive a bus. For another thing, the carriage of the bus was so high that I couldn’t see the cars on the road around me.
Things got worse: I saw a tangle of traffic up ahead and realized there was a football game. As I approached the intersection I heard a loud bang and saw a car go flying into the distance, apparently struck by me. I quickly pulled over and decided I was not going to accept this outcome. I wanted a do-over.
I rewound to earlier that morning. When my parents told me to drive the city bus home, I firmly refused. I would walk to the train station myself. Much more dependable way to get anywhere. My brother can’t walk that far, so I ordered a taxi for him.
On the way back home, I generally pick up dinner. As I walked, I mulled over what to get. I also stopped by a convenience store to say hi to Arellano, who was running a competition. She showed me all the prizes she had picked out for the derby winners.