I parked the big beast right on schedule, 12:30 on the dot. Got the key to the back room, the one with the cracked plastic chairs and the smell of stale coffee. Thought maybe I’d eat the sad sandwich my wife packed me, read a few pages of that book I’ve been trying to finish since Christmas. Instead, my thumb just… drifted. Like it had a mind of its own, straight to the YouTube icon. Fifteen minutes, I told myself. A quick mental break. But it wasn't a quick break, was it? It was a rabbit hole. Started with one of those compilations – "IDIOTS on the ROAD!! YOU WON'T BELIEVE THIS!" Then another. And another. Each one a little jolt, like a tiny electric shock straight to the lizard brain. Cars weaving, horns blaring, some dude getting out with a golf club. It’s wild, man. The sheer, unadulterated rage just… spilling out onto the asphalt. People screaming, faces purple. And I’m just sitting there, my lunch getting warm in its plastic container, eyes glued to the screen. The thirty minutes evaporated. JUST GONE. Like water in a hot pan. The screen glared back at me, another video queued up – "Bus Driver Loses It!" Irony, right? My throat felt tight, like I’d swallowed a handful of sand. My gut was churning, a slow burn of something I couldn't quite name. Not angry, not exactly. More like… a dull thrumming, like a generator deep in my chest. A vibration that said "YOU ARE WASTING IT. ALL OF IT." My relief driver came in, gave me the usual nod, "Rough day, boss?" and I just grunted something about traffic. Picked up my thermos, the one with the chipped paint, and got back behind the wheel. The sun was beating down, glaring off the windshield. Every car seemed to cut me off, every pedestrian seemed to dawdle. My hands felt clumsy on the wheel, my shoulders tight. The world outside the bus felt like a giant, simmering pot of frustration, and I had just spent my entire break stirring it with a stick. Now it's 2 AM. The house is quiet, just the hum of the fridge. Can't sleep. My mind keeps replaying those videos, those angry faces. And then I think about my shift, all the faces looking back at me – tired faces, bored faces, sometimes a kid smiling. And I feel this… heavy blanket. Like I traded the only half-hour I had to myself for a fistful of other people’s anger. And I don’t know why. It makes no SENSE. I got bills to pay, a kid who needs new shoes, a water heater that’s making a funny noise. Real shit. But I spent my time watching… what? People acting like animals. And now I just feel… dirty. Like I’ve been breathing someone else’s exhaust fumes all night. The silence here in the dark just amplifies it. Tomorrow, same thing. Alarm goes off at 5 AM. Another day on the road. And I’ll probably do it again, won't I? The screen calls.