It feels like travelling in a double-decker heading for the unknown. Most of the time on the ground floor, busy, in a constant thrill, looking at many directions. Once in a while you go upstairs and from the first floor perspective daily problems seem to weigh less, since the great truths prevail. The journey seems less obscure and therefore you may be tempted to go on, but actually you end up messing around on the ground floor where in fact you earn your living. Maybe you hear a call for jumping down. A loud call. Louder than all the mumbo-jumbo and the hustle and bustle you are supposed to go through.
That bus doesn’t make stops. Some views may be rewarding. Sort of soothing, sweeetening, swooning. They allow some breaks that give way to travel other scenery that entertains you and cheers you on.
Your journey seems to pay off on theese experiences basis. And it has come the time to get off. You just start thinking of the best place to quit and then all the sights seem to gather in a very familiar picture. Those same old streets and scenes. And you are sick and weary, not knowing what to do. But you continue.