Next to the sleeping guy

You jostle your way down the crowded aisle of the bus and to the open seat next to the bald white guy. He's a little paunchy but not sprawling all over the empty seat like some of the other people on the bus. He looks to be about your dad's age, which makes you feel safer for some reason. His suit is shabby, his tie is too short, and he has a big, battered leather suitcase under his feet. Sort of like a salesman's sample case. That fits, he seems like a salesman.

Trying not to wake him, you carefully settle into the open seat and set your purse on your knees. The sleeping man - the salesman - snores a little louder and shifts sideways so he almost has his back turned to you.

The bus rumbles into motion and sets off down the southbound highway. You watch the lights of the city fade as it plunges into the back country. No street lights and only the occasional car or truck going the other way. Almost everybody else on the bus is asleep and there is no light for you to read the trashy romance novel you brought with you.

The rumble of the engine and the steady swaying of the bus is relaxing. Maybe it would be a good idea to get some sleep. It'll be daylight again before you are anywhere near Reno, so no chance of missing your stop.

On the other hand, you're alone in the world, on a dark bus with about fifty strangers. Maybe not the best time to try to catch up on your sleep.