Bus Route 11

There are no coincidences, really. It just happened to be you.

That’s youth for you: groups of three or four, then five or six, a crowd coming together to form a team, sweating it out to shape the future, only to be scattered in every direction by a few sheets of paper.

Perhaps we’ll always remember that familiar face beneath the shade of a tree, in the height of that summer.

Only by giving it everything we have can we make it to our next reunion.

“The silly little kid from back then has grown up. But you still can’t shake me, so... I’ll just have to whisk you home!”