In the den of night, a familiar, dark-skinned man with sunken eyes sat inside a bus, his gaze blurry as the vehicle slowed.
But where have we seen this man before?
The doors peeled open like a dirty wound, letting out streams of compressed air that blurred his gaze further, but he didn't care.
The air was cold, and as the doors opened, it grew colder, the chilly night air causing goosebumps to line his skin. He was the only one on board, if one did not count the fat bus driver up front.
It was then that the figure appeared through the door, a silhouette against the green night moon.
His hood was drawn up, and it was difficult to see his face, so the dark-skinned man looked out the window.
The moon was green, 'It's always been green,' the man thought, his gaze locked on the sickly jaundiced thing that hung in the sky, cursing the soil with its light.
