There is something romantic about traveling by bus in the evening. You feel like a postmodern version of Caspar Friedrich’s ‘Wanderer above the Sea of Fog’. The horizon is road, lights and concrete, and everything is wrapped in the beautiful evening darkness. Parked cars, window displays and empty pavements. The noise of the suffering engine, the cold fluorescent lights, the worn-out upholstery.
You love everything you see, but you hate it at the same time. And it’s at that precise moment — when love and hate meet — when something you cannot explain with words happen in your body, and you just want to close your eyes and let the bus take you wherever it’s meant to go.