“On an otherwise nice and normal Monday morning, I burned to death. Rather, in the interest of full accuracy, I should say that I choked on smoke, passed out, then burned to death. But saying ‘I burned to death’ is much more dramatic, isn’t it?”

Resting my weight on the cold bridge railings behind me, I glanced down at my conversation partner, a balding mid-40s salaryman dressed in a soaked and rumpled suit paired with an even more rumpled spirit. He was sprawled on the sidewalk at my feet, clutching an almost empty bottle of liquor close to his chest. His lifeless eyes were fixed on the river flowing beneath the bridge.

I turned my head to follow his gaze. The river seemed deceptively still and peaceful, dark waters reflecting the beautiful full moon hanging above us. Beneath the surface though, the current was swift and strong, capable of drowning anyone unfortunate enough to fall in. I should know, we were both still soaked, courtesy of said river.

A breeze blew through the bridge, making goosebumps bloom across my crossed arms. “It’s too freaking cold. Couldn’t you have done this in July instead of December?”

I shook my head. “Anyway, where was I? Right, burning to death. What I’m trying to say is, drowning was a wise choice on your part. Much better than burning to death.”

If the drunk salaryman was listening, he didn’t bother with a reply. But that was fine. This was for me as much as it was for him.

“I’d rather not fish you out again. Besides, it was rather meddlesome of me wasn’t it? Sorry for that, instincts you know? Before I leave you to it though, I hope you’ll listen to a story. I’ll try to make it short and promise to leave you to it right after. How does that sound?” I asked.

The salaryman took a swig of alcohol in lieu of a reply, still staring at the river.

“I’ll take that as an agreement then. Speaking of, do you mind if I take a sip too? No? Oh well…”

I looked up at the moon above us. I still couldn’t get enough of the sight. “I guess it all started with an important presentation starting at noon and me riding a bus.”

For a moment, I was lost in memories. I sighed, “Ah... That damned bus.”

***

I fidgeted nervously on the bus seat while my finger tapped the armrest to the beat of my pacing heart. A trickle of sweat ran down my neck. I glanced at my wristwatch—10:10. It was just a battered old digital watch, not a smartwatch that was all the rage these days. Perhaps it was a bit old-fashioned for a young professional like myself, but I liked having an object with the singular and specific purpose of timekeeping.

I closed my eyes and took a deep, calming breath. Just an hour and fifty minutes until the defining moment of my career. One hundred and ten minutes before I present my strategy to the board of directors and current Chief Marketing Officer. The same CMO who was due for retirement and looking for a successor. This presentation would make or break my career. Succeed, and I would be CMO within the year. Fail, and I would be stuck in my current position for years and years while one of my rivals ran ahead.

I shuddered at the thought. I’d rather resign and look for another job if I fail. With the amount of bad blood between us, the one promoted would make life a living hell for the rest. I would too.

The details of my proposed strategy played in my mind once more. Everything was perfect. Of course it was. I’ve paid my dues, pulling a series of all-nighters that I was sure had shortened my lifespan by months, if not years. I had sacrificed my sweat and tears on the altar of hard work. How could it not be perfect? I knew my plan was the best. I just had to not mess up the presentation.

I checked the time. 10:13.

This is torture.

I couldn’t even tell if I wanted time to flow faster or slower. On one hand, I wanted to get this over and done with, but on the other hand, more time to revise the presentation wouldn’t hurt, would it? Maybe I should just try to relax and calm my nerves.

I leaned back, feeling the engine vibration through the bus seat. Or perhaps I was the one trembling.

A baby started crying in the back row. On any other day, I wouldn’t even have noticed it, lost in thoughts of work. But today… today it seemed particularly piercing. Each cry and wail grated on my nerves. I searched my briefcase for my earphones, but it wasn’t there. I’d been too distracted and rushed when I left this morning and forgot to bring it. I resigned myself to an uncomfortable ride, but fortunately, the crying baby and his mother got off at the next stop.

In exchange, a gaggle of teenagers in school uniform boarded, whispering and joking with each other. I placed my briefcase on the empty window seat next to me and closed my eyes to discourage company. Just in time from the looks of it. I could hear the teenagers settling in across the aisle to my left.

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One part of me envied them for their youth. Still so vibrant and full of hopes. Another part of me hated them for being naïve and impressionable. It wasn’t fair to blame them I know, but I couldn’t help but wish they’d be more discerning.

I exchanged seats with my briefcase. On any other day, I wouldn’t have bothered moving. Especially if it involved sitting near the tinted windows. But today… today the window seat doesn’t seem that bad after all. At least it put more distance between me and their joyful laughter.

I glanced out the window, looking past my hollow-eyed reflection. The people and buildings outside blurred into one incoherent mess. I heaved a deep sigh and closed my eyes, letting my head knock on the window with a thud. Suddenly, it all seemed pointless. Endless meetings, all-nighters, and office politics. A never-ending stream of presentations, meaningless emails, and nauseating fake smiles.

What am I doing with my life?

I leaned forward and cradled my head in my arms. I had entertained thoughts of quitting my job countless times now, but each time I convinced myself to hold on. That it was too late to turn back. I had done too much, sacrificed too much, to quit now. This was the last stretch of the road to success. Just one more presentation, one more sacrifice, and I would be CMO. That should be enough to satisfy me, right? I would undoubtedly have “made it” then. The current CMO earned $400k annually. How could I possibly not be considered successful when I could earn that much?

My heart thumped painfully in my chest.

I just needed to get myself together. This was just a minor breakdown. A nervous jitter before an important presentation. Yes. Nothing more than that. Let’s think of something else.

The main office is kinda far from where I live. If… no, when I succeed, I’ll need to meet with the board of directors frequently. Two hours spent commuting is too much. How about finding a closer place? It’s not like I couldn’t afford it.

I was feeling much better already, lost in happier thoughts.

I’m going to ace the presentation, become CMO, get a new apartment, and succeed in life.

"Last stop!" the bus driver shouted.

My eyes shot open. Looking around in confusion, I realized I was the only passenger left on the bus.

When did everyone else get off? I didn’t even notice the bus stop before. Did I fall asleep? Wait, that’s not right. An empty bus? In this city? At this hour?

"Hey! Sir, it's the last stop," the driver called again.

My heart sank. I had hoped I misheard him the first time. I looked at the unfamiliar buildings outside the tinted windows. This bus was supposed to take me straight where I needed to go, straight across Stratos Tower.

"Where are we?" I asked.

"Last stop. You need to get off now," the driver said.

In a trance, I collected my briefcase and stumbled my way to the front of the bus, frantically looking for a trace of familiarity.

"Can you tell me where we are exactly? I thought this was bus number 8?" I asked.

"It's number 13. Look man, just get off the bus. I still have things to do," the driver said.

I couldn't believe it. Did I board the wrong bus? I'm going to be late for the presentation! I opened a map app on my phone, but it wouldn't load. There was no internet signal, nor reception. With growing alarm, I noted down the time—10:58.

What the fuck?! Did I really faint or something? And how is there no internet service? We’re in the middle of the fucking city!

The bus driver placed a hand on my shoulder. "Sir, you need to get off now."

"Yes, I will. Sorry, I just- where are we exactly? My phone's acting up and I have no reception or internet. Can you just tell me where we are?"

The driver was slowly but firmly pulling me towards the exit as I babbled. Before I knew it, I was near the front door. Looking at the driver's annoyed expression, I knew his patience was running thin.

"Okay, okay. I'm getting off. Please just tell me where we are. Wait no, tell me which bus I should take to reach the Stratos Tower. Just tell me that. It's really important."

"There's no more bus passing through here," the bus driver said in an indifferent voice.

"What?! It's barely afternoon. What do you mean there's no more bus?" I asked.

This can't be happening to me. Of all days to get on the wrong bus, it just had to be today.

The driver tried to push me out the door, but I held on with desperate strength. This was my future at stake.

"Wait! Wait, at least tell me how to get to Stratos Tower," I said in a last bid for directions.

The driver stopped trying to push me off the bus and pointed behind me. "Just go up this street. You'll find what you want at the end of it."

I turned to look at the street. It was a generic, uphill, 4 lanes, one-way street. In sharp contrast to what I’d grown to expect in this city, the street was completely deserted. Silence hung heavily in the morning winter air. There were no honks from impatient drivers stuck in traffic, no rumble of vehicle engines. The air was crisp and fresh, uncontaminated by the acrid tang of exhaust smoke. There were no signs of activity. No pedestrians walked the sidewalk, and the windows of the buildings lining up the street were dark and lifeless. It should’ve been impossible.

I shook my head in disbelief. This is the city! Not some backwater ghost town.

But it seemed today was a day full of impossibilities. First with me boarding the wrong bus, then said bus being empty of passengers, and now even the street I arrived at being deserted.

I peered around, trying to catch any glimpse of activity. “Are you sure this is the right stre-”

I stumbled forward before I could finish my question. No, the bus driver shoved me forward and off the bus.

A moment of weightlessness that stretched for an eternity, then I laid sprawled on the sidewalk in an undignified tangle of limbs. Behind me, the bus door closed with a hiss. It rumbled away to the distance, trailing noxious smoke.

I stared blankly at the pavement in front of my face, hardly able to process what had just happened.

Feeling the blood rush to my head and my neck flushing red with anger, I shot up to my feet and shouted my outrage at the retreating bus.

It didn’t deign to respond to my outburst and soon was nothing but a speck on the horizon.

At least the anger had snapped me completely out of my funk. Better to shout and vent than to simmer in misery. Still, this was a big problem.

I checked the time. It was 11:01.