Civilization/Anacoluthia

Gar!
Moving what the god world. What is this shit?
The bus lurches through the intersection. Knuckles whiten on rails and stirrups. Feet stumble for balance. Someone honks. A service dog retreats against his rigid leash.
Whose Morgan seat and the goddamn worst peace.
Windows rolled down once again let in a breeze, and the pedestrian timer ticks outside. Sparks fly on unseen catenary wires, and zero emissions are released. Here we are: mass transit. This is [your stop]. A pair of Asian school boys get on, standing there looking up at everybody. Only one person looks back.
Hahaha! Ching shong dinga wonga. Heh heh.
Passengers get on. Passengers get off. The hydraulics kick in, and the bus kneels to accept its latest human inventory. The driver stares in jaded acceptance as dollars are pushed into slots, and transfer tickets are waved with halting confidence. He stops when he should, avoids bicyclists, and he nods or waves at commercial vehicles and cops along the way. The brakes sigh and snort, and the bus rolls forward again.
Hey lookit! Gotta garble and toss everything in the sanded hat. Every day like this.
Gar!
Every day, and aisle beach with the lingering chazmontz.
There's a constant web of communication among these packed-in dozens, a constant buzzing of silent discourse, as feet nudge away, hips twist almost imperceptibly, hands move back on rails, bottoms shift, eyes dart without lingering. Ups and downs, lefts to rights, boys to girls, men and women, ancients with children. A multitude of methods and a topographical hierarchy. And all focused around one dubious hub.
Sweet and stuck! Like a shifterly mother-ruck. Kids and then clouds. What's it all coming to? You're all fucked up.
You don't understand.
We don't get it. Just make room; leave a halo--and don't stare. He's just a human. Sort of. On your guard, but not pariah-izing. Wary but never condescending. And for god's sake, move back! This is just part of being in the city.
Gar!
Gar, gar gar, GAR!
Rumpled monger and drink some water. That's I say.
Everyone sort of holds their breath. Shallow huffs--just enough for oxygen. Muscles tense--touch no one!--and skin crawling. No one comfortable. Everyone dealing. The bus lurches around a corner.
Oof!
She screams shockingly, briefly, and cringes in disgust.
Gar. Umsorry.
A grungy water bottle rolls against ankles. Someone reaches for it gingerly, hands it across the aisle between two fingers now aching for a bar of soap. Nearby passengers reach for stop-request cords. Let us off! We'll take a cab. Or walk. How far are we? Which line is that over there?
Chuckling and leaning a clammy forehead against the overhead rail, the vagrant stares aghast at the reflection in the window.
We're all here.