A bus at night — a slow story for the end of the day, when you cannot concentrate on anything else — for a night when you do not want to think

The story, in full

Your ticket is on the seat beside you, already used. You do not have to get off for another twenty minutes. There are four other people downstairs and nobody up here.

There is a long stretch of road ahead with nothing on it. The city goes past below you, shopfronts and bus stops and people waiting for other buses. Outside, someone is walking a dog that does not want to be out.

Let your ribs stop working so hard. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.

Your chest can be still now. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.

The driver takes the corners slowly, as if the bus were full. The heating comes through the floor and makes your feet warm.

Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Let your calves spread out and flatten.

Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Your ankles can go loose now.

The bus stops and starts with a slow, heavy movement. The lights inside are the dim blue kind that buses use at night.

Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.

A streetlight passes across the ceiling every few seconds. You are on the top deck of the last bus, in the front seat, with the whole window to yourself.

Let your palms open if they were closed. Let your hands be completely still.

Outside, someone is walking a dog that does not want to be out. You do not have to get off for another twenty minutes.

Feel your wrists loosen. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.

A streetlight passes across the ceiling every few seconds. The city goes past below you, shopfronts and bus stops and people waiting for other buses.

If you feel emotional, you don't have to explain it to anyone, including yourself. Notice whether you're breathing or holding. Start breathing again.

Feel your cheeks let go. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.

Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Let the room get slightly further away.

Sleep. Stay with the weight of your body. They will find their own way out.

Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Let the dark be ordinary. Let your breathing do the rest.

When concentration is gone, work with what is left.

Goodnight. There is nothing left to do.

21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, anonymous.