On station 0 you find a red bus that offers ‘free rides to the funk ones’
So those who want to go to their there, are taken to their there. And those who want to go anywhere are left far behind.
The seats are teal, the last sponge tattered
The driver’s cap, the saffron of a lifejacket. The floor is a gleaming grey.
Then there’s also a funny man who doesn’t smile at all. All appears all right till he has a customer.
Remember the ride is free? His job is to hand them receipts.
Nobody likes to be called funk, nobody likes to be worked on that hard. And nobody likes to be known so much so that they fall card after card.
The funny man takes such all and tells them what he tells everyone. And tells them what is typed on the receipt in black and in courier sans.
That you’re there a tad.
That life’s going to be hard.