The Bus Was Never About Escape
I stood in front of the bus on Stampede Trail, half-expecting some revelation. It was smaller than I imagined, and lonelier, too—rusted, stripped, a monument to the kind of hope that gets people lost. I took a photo, but never posted it.
Everyone talks about chasing wild places, but nobody tells you how quiet it gets out there, or how seeing something famous in real life can feel like staring at a grave. I was glad I saw it before they moved it. Not because it was beautiful, but because it was real, and because I needed to know that sometimes, the stories we chase are just reminders to come home.
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