How exactly does one take out a restraining order?

I caught a taxi to the Greyhound station to await my bus. The driver asked where I was going and offered to take me there for $800 but I declined. He recommended a couple of bars for me to kill a little bit of time before the bus but they were all shut, so I sat outside the station, which was closed for lunch, in the very hot and humid weather waiting for the clerk to return at one o’clock. I got chatting to a very friendly man who delivers vehicles and uses the Greyhound to get back home in Georgia.

A short while later I was fairly confused. After a little while lying on the pavement reading a magazine I found myself waking up in time to see the woman arrive at about half past one and open the station. Five minutes later, there was a full on thunderstorm right outside, so I sat feeling very fortunate that she could tell the time.

It was soon clear that this journey would not be particularly enjoyable. Aside from the fact I’d have been happy staying in Mississippi for longer, I overhead a fellow passenger, on the topic of her luggage, utter the phrase ‘it’s no bigger than my son was when he was born so I can just stick it underneath the seat’. You have not heard the last of this woman. Indeed, by the time we were boarding she wanted to sit with me. I wasn’t particularly endeared to the idea, in part because she had trouble remembering and pronouncing my name, but no problem at all with my middle name. Thankfully, when the bus arrived late, it was clear even from the outside that there would be no danger of us sitting together. I took my seat at five past four even though it was supposed to depart at twenty five past three. It was a very special seat because it was the last one left on the bus. We set off with me feeling glad I’d been able to get on the bus but convinced there was no way I would be able to make my connection in Houston.

Before long my status as the sexiest man in the entire South was firmly established as I awoke to feel my own saliva crawling down my beard. Not long after that I was introduced to the brilliance of sat nav owned by a passenger on a bus. If there’s one thing long journeys definitely need, it’s increasingly insistent electronic voices shouting out directions which are diametrically opposed to the route the driver is taking. Still, at least he was able to watch the little dot move along a blue road instead of looking out of the window at the Amazon-esque tops of trees, and rivers snaking through the bayou as the rain punched holes in the earth.

As the boredom of the journey set in I found myself pondering the state of cars in this country. As the main test seems to be concerned with emissions, a trip on the motorway allows a fascinating look at the incredible level of ad-hoc repairs often comprised of duct-tape, cling film, and lesser-spotter pixie dust. No windows, and doors that won’t open? No problem! It was around this point in the journey that we passed Six Flags in New Orleans and I once again wanted to go in. As we traversed the city I considered how amazing it is that something you’ve only seen once or twice can seem so familiar.

After a brief break in New Orleans, where we had to vacate the bus, I found myself reseated next to Anya. During the layover she’d removed my phone from my hands to save her number so we could text on the bus, and that worried me enough, so I was not looking forward to the journey to Lafayette. After a small amount of what could be called conversation, but more accurately consisted of me responding with monosyllables, she regaled me with tales about her family, including her ex-fiancé who had slept with her older sister, whose testicles she had seriously considered removing with a gunshot. Other wonderful topics included her need for a cigarette after very good sex (she’d only smoked after sex three or four times in her life), and the fact that even though she’d never chased a guy in her own country, she meant to come to England to see me. She also seemed to enjoy reading text messages I sent and received over my shoulder and laughing at private jokes. Terrified didn’t cut it, when her hand found its way onto my leg and she used my shoulder as a pillow. This was not the kind of result I’d been after when people told me I’d be able to use my charming English accent and dashing good looks to cut swathes through the young women of the South. In fact, I was beginning to get the feeling that I should have taken the cabby up on his offer. When she finally got off the bus I was treated to the wonderful sight of scales of dry skin stuck to my shirt.

The next few hours were heavenly, but when I made it to Houston I only just made it to my transfer with around five minutes to spare. I transferred my own checked luggage on the advice of the driver and I’m very glad I did or we’d have left without it. The journey was fine and I got some sleep before we arrived in Austin at around 5am. As the hostel was quite a long way from the station I decided to stay for a little while until it got light and head in then, and met a Welsh couple who were doing the same. We talked for a bit while we waited and watched the news. The main story was the Murdoch situation, but I also saw a report about a man who was arrested in Baltimore with 13 knives in his cabin bag. He claimed he didn’t know it was illegal. As the sun rose we stepped out into the magnificent heat and I discovered had gone through my 3rd pair of sunglasses so far this trip. A lens must have come out in my pocket on the bus and then fallen out. At least they were only $2.

We caught the bus to the hostel, checked in, and went for showers, never to see each other again.