Walking Bus

I was sitting there at the bus stop, when a bus walked up to me. It didn’t drive or roll to me. It just straight up walked up to me from the sidewalk on its hind wheels.

Naturally, I was slightly bewildered.

“Hey man,” the bus spoke in a low, gruff voice, the kind that sounds like it smoked a bunch of cigarettes should be in a movie trailer. “Did you want a ride?”

Now, I normally don’t talk to strangers, walking buses with creepy low voices, or flying pots and pans making a racket in the library.

But I really needed to take the bus to get to my destination.

“Uh, depends. Can you get me to the Underwater Palace of the Sea Dragon? I’m meeting a classmate there so we can do a school project,” I asked.

“Hell yeah I do, I go everywhere,” the bus boasted. It tried to stick out its chest proudly, but that didn’t work out to well for it.

“Wha? You do?” I said, somewhat surprised. Somewhat. “So are you more like a taxi than a bus?”

“Awww naaawww man, do I look like a taxi to you?” the bus asked. I looked at it…long, squarish, bus-like…yeah I suppose it kind of looked like a bus. “Anyways, get in,” it motioned to me.

Ugh, fine. I got into the bus, and took a seat. It was entirely empty except for an old guy snoring in the corner. The bus revved up its engine. The wheels spun against the asphalt, kicking up smoke. I felt the bus’s energy soar, getting ready to suddenly burst into speed.

Then it stood up again on its hind legs and started running. The thing is, buses don’t run very fast. They’re a lot slower than me, which is saying a lot. Its wheels clunked heavily against the street, and the bus heaved for breath with each step.

“Um, how about you just drive?” I asked the bus.

“Naw dude, haven’t you heard? Driving runs on gas money and makes you fat. Running runs on fat and saves you money,” it said.

“That’s trueee…but you look kind of tired…”

“Maaaannnng, I got-,” the bus gasped some air. “…this, don’t even worry-” it gasped again. “…about it,” it told me with attitude. I kind of don’t like it when buses give me attitude.

“All right, stop!” I shouted, and yanked on the request stop wire thing.

“Wussa matter?” the bus asked.

“You’re the matter! You’re slow, annoying, and FAT!” I exclaimed.

The bus stopped, and the doors opened. I could hear it sniffle.

“Sorry man-or wait, sorry bus,” I tried to comfort. “But you’re just no Magic School Bus. Try working out at a gym.” I exited the bus, got on all fours, and rolled away.

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