38 first times

Everyday it starts the same way. The sleek blue body of the 38 sliding down the street to the stop where I wait. Sometimes the sun shines. More often, it rains. It's cold and it's grey but I don't have to ask anyone for a bilet studencki on the 38. The automatic ticket dispenser silently responds to my demand. A gentle click, the familiar sound. No necessary words or unnecessary exchange. It doesn't roll its eyes, it doesn't ask for smaller change. No lost elbows, backpacks or pushes. There is always room for me on the 38. An empty seat nearest the window with my name on it. Not that I'm tired anyway, memories of yesterday feeding me, keeping me up, racing. I sit facing backwards on the 38, but always move forward. I don't know what's in front of me and I don't seem to care. The cars, the people, the kisses and the screams. In one, two, three, four stops, I always get to here.