I'm Italy Malone, and this is The Slowdown.

When I was a teenager, I first discovered the joys of taking the bus.

The freedom it allowed me, as I was first permitted to travel to Santa Rosa all by myself

to meet friends for a movie.

I remember the glee of packing my bag and breaking all the things I needed in case of emergencies.

The freedom of thinking I could get anywhere.

The freedom to have my own agency to determine my destination.

What I also loved was the feeling of traveling together with so many unknown people from all

over toward our singular stopping places.

I'd make up stories about strangers and sing to myself that song, America, by Simon

and Garfunkel, off their 1968 album, Bookings, that had the lyrics laughing on the bus, playing

games with the faces.

She said the man in the gabardine suit was a spy.

I said, be careful, his bowtie is really a camera.

I liked that game too, the game with the faces.

I think about who was related to me, their histories, their long stories, their place of origin.

Once, when I was in college, I became sick and feverish with strep throat while camping

with my dad and stepmom at Mount St. Helens, so I rode the bus three hours home.

I sat next to a woman who looked a lot like me.

She took pity on me and bought me a grape soda at the restaurant while I slept with my head

pressed up against the window, the whole landscape of trees and mountains, a blur in my hazy

state.

...