My bus story.

The bus prattled toward the city in the ever still silence. Vibrations rose from the overused shocks and echoed in the riders bones. Ryker sat arms crossed over his chest as they went over another pothole. His eyes closed as his person took up three seats all together. One for most of him, supporting his butt and torso. One held the shoulder bag he carried with him, its strap limply hanging at ready if its owner got up. Those two seats sat side by side, while another in front of Ryker faced the isle, this seat held his legs.
It was almost the dead of night as this bus, now vacant of all souls except the driver and Ryker, pulled up to the edge of town.
"End of the line" The mechanical womans voice came over the graffitied speaker on the roof of this dull, yellow with age, bus.
"End of the line buddy." The driver seemed to mimic as if Ryker had missed the robotic one moments before. This driver seemed about his late forties to early fifties, hair looking cleaner grey than the bus itself. His mud-water green eyes looked through his rectangle mirror at the younger man, who made him chilled as his aqua eyes seared through the reflective surface.
Ryker shifted, his feet smacking the floor in time, black converse being followed by his legs, pelvis and torso. His shoulder tweaked when the bag's strap snapped taunt, the rest of the bag following accordingly, as he began to sweep down the isle to the open, waiting door. It stood like a portal to a new dark world. An empty road with a city in the near distance. Street lights here in the edges, like the fraying thread in a ball of yarn, hanging off and barely part of the busily winded center. He stepped out into the cool crisp air. The bus doors snapped shut behind him even before the dust, raised by his black shoes, settled once more on the asphalt.
He wore his traveling clothes, Plain, somewhat frayed, jeans, a black shirt with a dark grey hoodie covered in a leather jacket. Ryker stood there, aqua eyes looking up at the sky, as if called, the pregnant clouds burst. Water came down in fat drops, slowly at first and began to fall faster. The grey hood went over his black, foe-hawk gelled hair. Adjusting the leather jacket by pulling up the zipper.
Ryker set off then, his walk set almost as if he started at point A and now moved with much purpose to point B, somewhere in amidst the city streets and alley ways. He did have purpose, but he did, and he knew that purpose was headed for him, all he had to do was wait....
(more later if its any good.)