25B

A collection of events of my time on the 25B

Newcastle Road

It was night in broad daylight; much like a Magritte. A bottle of coke rolled through the bus and grew to like my foot. It bumped into my heel and stood there by my side moments at a time. When it departed, the noise of it rolling away was so sudden that each consecutive roll sounded like an echo of the previous. How many passengers ago did this bottle come to live here? When was it abandoned and left to roam the upstairs of a 25B? I hadn’t much time to think of an answer as the bottle would soon return. As long as it rested by my foot all I cared about was for it to be okay.

Griffeen Avenue

“Thank God for Dazai,” was said.

“Right.”

Why so?

“Why so?” was asked.

“Because he got me on the bus.”

I wonder if any writer ever got me anywhere.

“How did he manage that, being dead and all?”

“He wrote this book and I bought it. That got me the change to get on.”

Oh, I see.

“You couldn’t have bought a water?”

“I had a 50 note.”

“Right.”

“Thank God for Dazai,” was said again.

One day I’d like God to be thanked for me.

Liffey Valley

The world rolled backward, the bus the opposite direction. It stopped and people got on. Two girls decided to come upstairs; they sat in front of me.

“We shouldn’t go, someone called the Guards.”

“Fuck are they gonna do?”

“They’re looking through their phones.”

“You watch! Let them go through my phone the fucking rats.”

“They might find something.”

“What are they gonna do, tell my Ma? She already — ”

The girl stopped. She stopped because the bottle of coke rolled into her foot. She kicked it away then continued talking:

“Ma already hates me.”

I leaned over to see if the bottle was okay. I couldn’t spot it, not in that moment and neither when I went looking for it as I got off the bus.