There was no other way.

That's right, Adam thought, hurrying past the Chacao Police Department. Do whatever it takes for a spot on the next bus. Stay the hell away from the subways! The Caracas Metro was not an option. Going down those dead mechanical stairs, down below, into the shadowy tunnels that reeked of piss—Uh-uh, no thank you.

It had been over a decade since Adam had resorted to public transportation, but he had learned to endure more than anyone would have expected of him over the last few hours. I hope the bus driver accepts this. He discreetly unfolded the lucky one-dollar bill hidden in his wallet, the same one Bianca had found at Disney World on their only trip to the United States eleven years ago.

Ganged around a filthy bus stop with a light box displaying a Chicas Pilsen poster, Adam saw business people in cheap suits, a toothless older man next to some high school students, and a woman struggling with grocery bags and her toddler. No one was speaking. Everyone avoided eye contact.

Despite the awful situation, Adam couldn't deny this was an excellent place to go unnoticed, to be just another tired face in the crowd.

When the two-year-old wearing a Paw Patrol shirt began crying, Adam's first impulse was to help the boy's mother, but her body language said back off. In a different country, she would have pulled out her phone and entertained her son with a video. Not in Venezuela. Not ever.

Here, it's a surefire way to find yourself at the pointy end of a knife.

As they waited, two young men on a motorbike stopped in front of them. Adam prepared for the worst, but it turned out it was just a motorcycle taxi driver dropping off a passenger and looking for a new fare. A pretty businesswoman wearing sneakers, and carrying her fashionable high heel shoes in her purse, jumped at the opportunity. She hopped on the back of the yellow motorcycle, murmured something to the rider, and left with him.

"Damn, I wish I had boobs," a bald guy joked.

"But those," an older lady replied. "Mine won't buy me a ride around the block."

The high school students chuckled.

After thirty minutes dragged out, when the Encava bus arrived, the first thought that popped into Adam's head was that you couldn't fit a pin in there. He was wrong. Some passengers didn't actually need to get in; as long as the bus took them to their destination, all they needed was a window to cling to and a foot on something solid to balance themselves.

To Adam, that contraption covered with rusty scars, with its exposed engine, colorful windshield stickers, and dented bumper, was in no condition to take them anywhere. But it would have to do.

He regretted having wrestled his way into that rattletrap, but once inside, there was no going back. The aisle and the seats were jam-packed. Adam pushed through the passengers and slithered to the tail of the bus, where it didn't seem as cramped. The expression 'like sardines in a can' crossed his mind after every hard-fought inch.

"Move to the back!" the bulky, sweaty man behind the red steering wheel shouted, sounding tired.

The commuters moaned, groaned, and complained.

"We are not animals!"

"Can't breathe!"

"Someone groped me!"

"Don't like it? Get out!" The bus operator turned down the volume of the reggaeton song blasting on the radio. "So pipe down and pile up!"

No one spoke a word after that.

It didn't matter that the windows were open; the commuters' body heat had transformed the massive vehicle into a sauna. The acrid odor of sweat that lingered in the air disturbed Adam, but not nearly as much as the surprise he found at the end of the aisle.

Beneath the rear window, covered with a micro-perforated decal of Maria Lionza, the last row of seats was empty, except for a young man wearing sunglasses that reflected his surroundings like two red mirrors. He must have been seventeen, but, despite his lean build (evident by the tight Adidas shirt plastered to his chest with sweat), he seemed much older. He looked like someone who grew up playing marbles with bullets.

The thick gold chains around his neck and the newest Samsung phone in his hand showed that he wasn't afraid. In fact, it was the opposite. He was marking his territory, his defying pose screaming, "Come on! I dare you. I double dare you."

The moment the bus broke speed, Adam feared he would fall forward. As he hung to the ceiling handle, the pain in his right hand trebled, reminding him he shouldn't have punched that wall earlier. While regaining his balance, Adam noticed a thread of blood trickling down the young guy's forehead. That stirred up his uneasiness.

Look away and say nothing, Adam decided.

Although several passengers got off, the number of commuters didn't seem to dwindle. Adam never came close to sitting down; hell, he didn't even get to pay his bus fare. None of it mattered once he scrambled out of that moving gas chamber a long hour and forty-five minutes later.

The night air tasted so sweet.

Halfway through a sigh of relief, an abrupt jolt of anxiety hit him. Where is my phone? Adam felt about his pockets, wide-eyed. He didn't breathe again until his desperate hands sensed a lump in his sweatshirt pouch. "Thank God."

He had made it back in one piece from that horrible and useless odyssey.

"Home sweet—" The gate to his building clattered when he tried to open it; someone had secured it with a padlock and chain. "Fuck!"

Adam rattled it in frustration. A dog barked down the street.

The concrete wall surrounding the apartment complex was at least thirteen feet tall with cemented broken glass bottles on it to prevent people from doing what Adam was considering right at that moment.

"This can't be happening!"

Devastated, Adam walked to the entrance that led to the next building, Eden Three. Fifteen minutes went by, and no one came in or out. Could he blame them? People lived and died by the Golden Rule.

A sudden, mechanical buzzing sound caught his attention. The groan of a heavy gate that needed oil made him consider an alternate route—the underground parking garage.

There are several things I want to fix here. For example, I think I'm leaning too heavily on adverbs. I don't like that. I think it makes for a poor reading experience.

I'm beginning to see where my weaknesses are. However, it will be better if you tell me what you like and what you don't.

I can always use a fresh opinion.

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