Bus terminals are like vhs and cassette.

Not all of us can afford the newest upgrades, and get stuck in an outdated mode.

They’re sad old buildings, these bus terminals, reeking of lost dreams and broken promises of the future that won’t be waiting at the next stop.

No electrical outlets, no internet, no quick communication.

There is nothing here that speaks of what humanity has done to drag the bottom up.

Cornell west said we have a black man as president, we have shattered the glass ceiling, but that doesn’t mean we should forget about the people in the basement.

It seems we have.

Being forced to take a thirty hour bus ride only because my ID was confiscated showed me some things.

There are no restaurants here.

No apple stores.

Not even a bookstore.

The only thing here is the dingy memories of a manifest destiny.

A desire to keep travelling with just the dirt in our pockets blisters on our feet, and backaches from cramped hours with no leg room.  

But shit still has to get done.

Travel is still necessary, even without comfort.

I can’t remember how many hours I spent in these megaliths and giants of a past that presented a brighter future.

Only now we have reached that future and these buildings are decrepit and old.

Forgotten announcements of today from yesterday, like a voicemail about free tickets to a show that started two hours ago.

I know I will never complain about flying again.