He was at the bus station.  It was but for him to buy a ticket and he’d be out of town.  He’d be on the road, he’d think new things.  For this, all he needed was money.  That’s when he thought to ask people for a ticket instead — a ticket, he started to say to people, to as far away from here as you can afford.  An old lady, who he thought would empathize, couldn’t hear him; a man almost hit him with his cane; and there was a young woman who asked him where his parents were, but didn’t give chase when he ran.  The next, a man in a cap, took his time, and then said that he would take him as far as the bus was going as long as he also promised to return with it.  He shook, he soon realized, the bus driver’s hand.  On the streets, he saw people get on and off the bus, but he was settled in, right behind the bus driver, doing something interesting instead of pointless.  There was, for example, the big test in class the very next day, so pointless that his mind, independent of him, had decided to shut down.  It was make or break: Was he going to commit to being a student or to the enjoyments of his mind?  He was leaning towards the latter.  But, he never really got to the thinking because the bus never made it past town’s edge.  What with the bus driver being good to him as only a good man can be, keeping his attention, pointing out sights and their achievement stories, he felt he owed a good deed back.  He’d take the test.  He knew the bus driver would like that, and, then, getting caught up in all the buildings and stores and cars and bikes on the streets, gave the matter no further thought.