No Boring Travel

The time is 12:30 am. I was going to once again go on a journey that made my heart itch with the levitating teasing of varying emotions. This journey like others before it starts with the cashier that lazily goes about writing my bus ticket.
I look at her face, it is bright with the white talc I thought suited her than the imitation compressed powder that made her look like she left a spa half way into a facial; her face isn’t the difference. I’m convinced something is different about her but I can’t quite place a finger on it. She is through with writing my ticket. She hands it over and says,” Safe journey”. I take my ticket and go on; something is different about the cashier, that nagging thought again. I turn to stare at her just as she takes money from another passenger. I smile as I spot the difference; a shiny gold band on her ring finger.
I show my ticket to the five o’clock driver who though uneducated, looks through every line on the ticket. The five o’clock driver is the same as everyday I’ve been on this journey but I notice that though he rides a rickety bus and his hands are scarred with hard work, he has a t-shirt on which reads “my money grows on trees”
This journey has begun once again. I look beside me a window facing the road; my secret passion during each travel, on the other side an Old woman. Outside my window, I notice the red mud that sank and rose; a movement our bus imitated. The trees were on each side of the road were slowly disappearing like everyday I’ve been on this journey.
Soon that nagging sense of monotony sets in; it’s like I’ve seen it all; the secretary’s band must have been there yesterday, this wasn’t the first time the driver wore that t-shirt, the red mud has always been there, rickety would still be too rich to describe the bus. I turn my head back into the bus; nothing to be seen outside it.
The old woman beside me coughs, I look at her. Then I discover the many faces of this one journey, on her hands are the markings of our tribe. I greet her in our native language, she replies and for the rest of the journey, I would marvel at stories she has to tell.
The first time I went on this journey, I knew I would still go on the same journey many times but each time still leaves me marvelled and teases my mind with new discoveries. The bus stops. I have reached my destination. I check the time, 12:40 am.