A bus full of sullen faces look at nothing in particular.

Cold stares and thin lips surround me.

Not one glower turns to smile. They merely project their many years

of pent-up disapproval.

A woman eyes me up and down; a prejudiced justice, my joyless judge.
I am silently chastised for wearing my pajama bottoms and grey hoodie that attempt to shelter me. My clothes do their best to protect against these private people’s prying eyes. 

I can taste their distaste for me. I can read their scorn and hear their envy. 

My skin is crawling. I am more comfortable in this land than they ever will be.