The Passenger (The Passenger #1)

by Cormac McCarthy

I want to know where you came from, she said. You mean some place we were before we were here? Yes. The cohorts moved slightly closer. As if to hear. All right, said the Kid. Anyone want to take that? It’s a simple question. Yeah, right. How did you get here? We came on the bus. You came on the bus. Yeah. You didnt come on the bus. We didnt? Well pardon me all to hell. No. You didnt. Why not? You didnt come on the bus. How could you come on the bus? Christ, Clarissa. The driver opens the door and you climb aboard. How hard is that? Were there other people on the bus? Sure. Why not? And no one said anything? Like what? You didnt get any funny looks? Funny looks. Could they see you? The other passengers? Yes. Who knows? Jesus. Probably some could and some couldnt. Some could but wouldnt. Where’s this going? Well what kind of passenger can see you? How did we get stuck on this passenger thing? I just want to know. Ask me again. What kind of passenger is it that can see you. I think I know what we’ve got here. Okay. What kind of passenger? The Kid stuck what would have been his thumbs in his earholes and waggled his flippers and rolled his eyes and went blabble abble abble. She put one hand over her mouth. I’m just jacking with you. I dont know what kind of passenger. Jesus. People will look at you and they look surprised, that’s all. You know they’re looking at you. What do they say? They dont say anything. What would they say? Who do they think you are? Who do they think we ...

Passenger section.