The reason being that the front window is so big it fills my field of vision and tricks my otherwise sensible brain to believe I'm alone and soaring between the trees and rooftops over the unfortunate grounded fools below.
This blatant act of escapism is paramount to my enjoyment of a working day. With even one row of heads bobbing side to side between me and my peaceful bus-journey nirvana the illusion is shattered.
Lucky for me, today there is a free seat. Unlucky for me, the spare space is across the way from the biggest, most threatening-looking man on the planet. Forget Charles Bronson or Mike Tyson, this guy makes them look like candy floss; a bald-headed bruiser, bull-browed and shaped like a brick.
He is sat down. But still, through his demolition-ball skull, wiry hints of growing hair shave curly shards of plastic away from the bus roof. I sit down. He doesn't notice.
There is no known reason this man should want to kill me – although he has clearly killed before – but i really don't want to give him the idea. But in an attempt not to annoy the man-mountain, I succeed in doing nothing else.
I glance continually over, my constant shuffling clearly unsettling him. I tell myself to just look forward and concentrate on flying over my surroundings, all calm and serene. Not going to happen. One false move and this guy will surely twist my head off and put it with whoever else is in his big black bag.
One more peek over and I seal my fate. He is looking straight at me. I smile. He doesn't.
Then it occurs to me that a man of his size is not proud of it. He lives his life stuck in the body of a giant, frustrated and outcast. And now he thinks I'm laughing at him.
Sure enough he stands up, curling his back over as his head gouges a deep groove in the roof. He towers over me. I try to mind my own business.
Sure enough the guy heads down the stairs and gets off the bus. Now I'm at work, ruing the fact that due to my own silly preconceptions, I took the bus to work - when I could have flown.
