Highway to Hell

In a tourist bus with dark windows that goes from here to there, and there to here, people sit and watch what is passing them by outside. Outside, there are other people, and they do not look back. There is no use in looking back; one such bus after another, making some noise and leaving some dust behind, like the wind that blows into the plastic bag heaps from time to time, all day. There is work to do, a road to travel, business to mind. Not that those in the bus do not also have work to do, a