Yes, here's me again. Dragging the cylinder up onto the bus and all but throwing my back out.

Thanks for the help, GENTLEMEN.

That's why boys never get laid: they're too dopey or shy to perform simple favors. Everything's infused with sexual harassment lawsuit paranoia these days. Goddamnit, just help the lady.

I guess it's wrong of me to assume they want to get laid or even that they know what getting laid means. Looking at their bleak stares, I just want to get home as soon as possible.
On board, I hear grumbling. Like I'm the handicapped passenger who puts the bus on hold for twenty minutes so the driver can crank down the wheelchair ramp.
No doubt everyone here thinks I'm toting along a big ol' tank of nitrous oxide. To these people I'm just another dumbshit raver girl going home after school for an evening of whippets behind the barn.

Long story short, the unspoken judgement from these total strangers grows unbearable and I ring for the very next stop.

How wonderful that I get to spend the last few moments of my life dealing with this shit.

My one wish: a rapid, uninterrupted levitation into a pocket of our atmosphere with little or no oxygen so I can suffocate peacefully.