I climbed aboard a Greyhound bus and rode it to New York without telling anyone, without so much as a goodbye. What was I thinking? I wasn’t. I was young and stupid and broken. I knew from watching movies that broken people hopped on buses and disappeared. New York seemed far away, geographically, mentally.
Ken  Wheaton, Sweet as Cane, Salty as Tears
escape, greyhound, grief, new-york, new-york-city, travel