A man in a trench coat stands at the bus stop smoking a marijuana cigarette. He is not waiting for the bus but will get on when it arrives. He does not have a bomb but carries a knife. He considers stabbing the driver in the throat when he gets on. He just quit his job selling advertisements for milk. The mustache was his idea. It was his greatest achievement and the beginning of the end. "They don't make 'em like they use to," he tells himself. He is alone. His wife left him for an actor that wears red leather shoes. The ordeal left him with a relief of vacancy. The sun is going down. An old man approaches the bench and asks the man, "When's the next one?" The man shrugs. He is not waiting for the bus but will get on when it arrives. The old man stares at the joint. The man offers a hit. "No, thank you," says the old man. The man takes a final drag, drops the butt to the ground, and snuffs it out under his shoe. The old man says, "Did you know this is all being written as we sit here?" The man in the trench coat unaware says, "I'm standing." The old man says, "That is correct." The man in the trench coat becomes extremely uncomfortable and slowly walks away from the bus stop. The old man with mild terror asks, "Where are you going? It should be here any minute." The man continues to walk away without responding. His tongue has faded into the void. Even if he could speak it would not matter. He has come to the conclusion that he is ineffectual and has decided to fade into the particles in silence. He broke his promise.
The old man waits patiently. The sun has completely faded into the ground. Something shimmers on the ground a few feet away. The old man stands up slowly from the bench and hobbles to the item. It is a knife. He crouches over the item and picks it up. He inspects the knife. It is a switch blade and he always wanted one as a boy. He puts the knife in his pocket and hobbles back to the bench. He sits down and the bus arrives shortly after. The doors swing open but the old man remains seated. The bus driver yells something undetermined at the old man. "I'm not getting on, I'm not waiting for a bus," says the old man. The bus doors swing closed and pull away. "I've already got what I've been waiting for," the old man mumbles as the bus fades away into the particles. He takes the knife from his pocket. He pushes the button and the blade flies out. He states, "I am the bus driver," and stabs himself in the throat. Gargling on blood he falls off the bench onto the pavement. Staring at the black sky he can finally start his life. He is happy.