Searching for Pluto (part 2)

So, this is the second installation in the untitled story I started back on Nov. 4th, that some of you expressed interest in continuing to read. I have to apologize, because, I had written up a lot more than this shortly after that date, but due to a freak computer accident lost a whole lot of pages of writing.

I'm tentatively changing the name from Untitled to Searching for Pluto so that it's easier to search if you want to go back and read part one. I'm also posting this draft as is on the first write up and completely unedited, because, well, I'm lazy and don't feel like editing. Er, rather, I'm going to do all my edits when the stories finished.
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Nothing in life ever works out the way you want it to. Not even a fucking bus ride. It was every bit as terrible as I expected it to be, even if it was a helluva lot shorter than what I paid for.
Things would have been okay had they let me smoke, but apparently us cigarette addicts don’t have any rights. Never mind that the cigarette would have helped quell the nausea from the way the bus sloshed my brain back and forth.
So I sat in my seat sipping on my handle feeling outrageously sick for the beginning of the ride. It didn’t take too long before the bus’s bouncing made me vomit. Pity, that I was half asleep in my seat when it happened.
I stumbled my way to the little bathroom in the rear of the bus emptying the contents of my stomach the entire time. Inside, I tried my best to clean myself up, but it was pretty difficult considering the bus obviously wasn’t going to stop bouncing me around.
I think at some point I must have decided to sit down, because the next thing I remember is the bus driving kicking me and telling me we were at a rest stop and I had to get off. Cigarette. I breathed a sigh of relief at the realization and made my way to my feet, muttering my thanks.
Outside the air was frigid, but I didn’t care, I fumbled in my pockets till I found the two items I was seeking and plopped down onto the nearest bench. I put the cigarettes to my lips and struck the flame, breathing in. Thank god tobacco tastes better than vomit.
I drank the last few swigs from my handle and promptly blacked out. When I came to, the first thing I noticed was that someone had placed my guitar beside me on the bench. My first instinct was to check it, even though I knew I was the only one with the lock. It wasn’t until after I had the case open and assured myself it was still there that I realized my bus was nowhere to be seen.
I could go on and tell you about the hours I wasted on the phone bitching to the bus company, or the security guard that kept trying to chase me off, but it I won’t bore you. Let’s just say it sucked. Apparently the fact the bus left without me was entirely my own fault and there was nothing they would do for me. No refund, no other bus. I was stranded in some freezing, bumble-fuck country out in the middle of nowhere.
I pulled my sweatshirt tighter around me, shouldered my guitar, and left the watchful gaze of the security guard behind as I trudged my way out from the rest stop area and onto the highway.
The wind was bitter, and I realized then that I had just traded my entire life for a handle of booze and a carton of cigarettes and I didn’t even know where the hell I was. I sighed, and tried not to think about how cold my feet felt.
Fortunately, I still knew where I had to go. I still knew where she went even if it was starting to look further and further away then Pluto. Even if I didn’t know how I was going to get there, I still knew that I was going. At least it wouldn’t be so cold.