Rain on the window should have been enough to put him to sleep. It had been his only sure chance at sleep throughout his childhood, and yet it seemed to not be adequate this day. Bus engine versus rain: bus wins every time.
The hooded vagrant cursed the vibrations against his head and shifted his weight. It was his new mission in life to find that one comfortable spot against the side of the bus that he knew was there. We all have searched for it; be it on a bus, train, or plane, and he was determined to root it out. Sleep would have to wait. He moved back and forth, searching. Once, he was convinced he had triumphed, only to realize a screw was comfortably nudged up against his ear.
A pillow would have gone a long way this night, as our hooded friend settled in to his most uncomfortable seat, with its most uncomfortable, adjacent wall. He did thank the gods that he had gotten a window seat, for at least he had this unholy wall to attempt sleep upon. Then interstate gave way to back roads and all was lost in his game of sleep.
This hooded vagrant, his name not so important now, was an insignificant passenger riding a bus from the middle of nowhere out to the edge of nowhere. Some may say he was running away, but that would be a foolish inclination. That would imply he had someplace or someone to run from, and anything he once could call a life, and a home, had all but vanished. His only clothes; he was wearing them; were a hooded sweatshirt the color of shit, a holy pair of jeans, and an old navy trenchcoat, wool it appeared. It seemed that in this new "life" of his, that hood never came off. Those he had passed in recent years couldn't tell you what color his hair was, or even if he had hair. All they would have remembered, if they remembered him at all, was his beard. The thing grew out of his hood like kudzu, taking over the rest of his face. It was the color of squirrel; agouti those of better worlds might call it. This beard was the vagrant's strength. His past could be remembered, and his promises never forgotten.
It seems that regardless of the factors keeping the vagrant from sleep, the weariness of travel finally won, and sleep found him. He drifted down the side of the bus, ear catching on the exposed screw and holding him in place. Tomorrow would bring a new town, and a new batch of passengers onto this bus of his.
1 Chronicles 29:15 We are aliens and strangers in your sight, as were all our forefathers. Our days on earth are like a shadow, without hope.