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Bus Story: Myth 2.0

July 11, 2014

His hair, a dusty brown color that is reminiscent of small, woodland creatures, hangs over half of his face. With the practiced ease of habitual activity, he flips it up, but it falls back down, with a quiet “fwap.” Over and over again, he performs this futile act, and with each repetition, he sighs. It is the sigh of a future eternity of futility and of the indignity suffered in ages past. The gods, it seems, have found a new Sisyphus.

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