By Kimberly Moore
For Weekly Surge

Because in my head there's a Greyhound station
Where I send my thoughts to far off destinations

-from Deathcab for Cutie's "Soul Meets Body"

As spring erupts from another long hibernation, winter weary travelers come out of hiding and get ready to hit the road. In Myrtle Beach, not only are we a major destination for hordes of families, bikers and golfers, but the people who tend to live in this funky, multifaceted beach town like to get out there and see some sights themselves. With grim predictions of budget busting gas prices and major delays plaguing the nation's air carriers, more travelers are considering bus service. "We have seen an increase in ridership. Our riders have always appreciated the value behind our service, and this is a busy time of year for us, regardless of other factors," says Abby Wambaugh, a spokesperson for Greyhound Corporate Communications.

Greyhound Lines, Inc. is the top bus service throughout North America, serving more than 3,100 destinations and 22 million passengers a year. Founded in 1914, Greyhound has more than 2,400 service locations throughout North America, everywhere from Alabama to Wyoming (excluding only Alaska and Hawaii). Locations include company-operated terminals in major cities such as New York, Chicago and Los Angeles, as well as independently operated stations in smaller towns like Myrtle Beach. As gas prices approach $4 a gallon, and airlines pass on increased prices to consumers, bus travel makes sense economically, as well as environmentally. On an average day, one Greyhound bus replaces over 34 cars on our nations highways, carrying over 184 passengers a mile per gallon of gas. During Memorial Day weekend, those figures will almost double.

In the center of Myrtle Beach, the Greyhound Bus Terminal sits tucked away on 7th Avenue North, between Oak Street and Kings Highway. A few short blocks from the ocean, a combination of locals and tourists, students and professionals, teens and retirees sit and wait - some for the anticipated arrival of friends and family, others ready to make a departure to a new locale. According to the Greyhound website (www.Greyhound.com), the average passenger is between 18-to-34, most own a car, about a third make more than $35,000, and more than half are college educated. Driven by desire or circumstance, these adventurous types have chosen a method of transportation that is both nostalgic in its history and current in its practicality, carrying the promise of freedom and the open road. In an age of instant gratification and on-demand lifestyles, bus travel requires patience, and plenty of it, as four-hour treks can turn into overnight layovers.

As the proverb says, "The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."

The following is an account of a recent day-in-the-life at Myrtle Beach's Greyhound Bus terminal.

 

9 a.m.

The Greyhound terminal doesn't open for another hour, but it's already abuzz with activity. Taxicabs lines the street opposite the unassuming yellow brick building, and the parking lot has three of its five spaces filled with late model cars, dropping off passengers. A small group of men stand near the full size glass windows that look into the waiting area of the station. They stand by the payphone, with their backpacks and duffle bags kept protectively within reach, as they gripe to each other about their experiences in Myrtle Beach.

An angry man in his late 30s with dirty jeans and a ripped t-shirt complains loudly to the two men standing with him. "Man, there ain't no hospitality in this town, none. I ain't never coming back," he says bitterly. "Ain't no one gonna give you a break here. I don't trust anyone in this town," he says, eyeing the other men suspiciously.

An abandoned baby stroller leans against the wall, and the ground is littered with cigarette butts, an empty pack of Newports and an orange peel.

A blue Ford pulls up and a young girl in jeans and a tank top gets out. An older woman gets out with her, retrieves a bulging, black duffel bag from the trunk, and sets it in the grass. They hug and say goodbye, the older woman admonishing the younger to be careful. "That's my mom," says Tiffany Skinner, an 18-year-old from Conway who is on her first trip alone. She is heading to Greenville, N.C. to visit her fiancé, who is staying there with his family until he can find work in Myrtle Beach. She will be staying with them for a week. Her bus does not come until this afternoon. "My mom got mad and dropped me off early. In her eyes, she's afraid I'll go and not come back," Skinner explains, as she makes her way to the terminal, dropping her duffel bag and sitting on it with her back against the terminal wall as she settles in to wait.

Martin Kapalka, a tough but cheery looking man in a Pittsburgh Steelers t-shirt makes good-natured conversation with a group of men waiting for the terminal to open. Kapalka has been driving a cab in Myrtle Beach for the last five years, and he regularly parks in front of the terminal waiting for fares. "The airport is so crowded; you get so many cabs out there. I prefer it here, and I can make good money," he says. Most of his fares are tourists, heading to local hotels and they are not always in the best mood. "They're tired; they've been on the bus a long time. They complain about layovers, and that the bus is stuffy."

For some, Myrtle Beach is a one-way ticket. Says Kapalka, "Some folks, they see Myrtle Beach as a place they can stay and make a lot of money. They're moving here, bringing as much of their personal belongings as they can." Greyhound allows passengers one checked bag not exceeding 50 pounds, with the option of checking one more for $5, and a small carry-on bag is permitted. There is a long list of restrictions on what can be brought onboard, from the usual prohibition of narcotics or firearms, to the more bizarre ban on corpses or cremated remains.

10 a.m.

The bus station opens for business. The portly proprietor with his Santa Claus beard and an air of weariness opens the doors and takes his place behind the ticket counter. A line of 10 people quickly forms. A neatly dressed man appearing to be in his early 40s, who gives his name only as Phil, checks his cell phone repeatedly. He tries to make a call, hangs up, and tries again.

"Dammit, I'm waiting to hear from my boss. He's supposed to make the ticket arrangements so I can get out of here," he says. Phil works in construction, and after a three-day detour in Myrtle Beach, is waiting to get a bus ticket to meet up with the rest of his crew in New Haven, Conn. "The main office is in Texas, which is usually where they make travel arrangements," Phil explains. Texas has been hit hard with heavy storms and tornadoes that have caused power outages and phone service problems, and Phil has been trying to arrange to leave since last night.

He spent the night in the shadow of Mount Atlanticus, the miniature golf course that sits across the street from the terminal, with its towering bamboo huts and tiki lights. "The terminal manager told me about a shelter to go to, but I actually felt safer just camping out here," Phil says. "I slept right behind the bushes, and I had no problems. I didn't see a soul, and no one saw me."

As Phil wanders off to try his boss again, Victor Bachman and Christine Meulenyser check their tickets and itinerary. After having spent a miserable week vacationing in Miami, they abandoned their air travel plans to take a bus trip home to Ontario, Canada, allowing a one-day detour in Myrtle Beach. Says Bachman, who along with Meunlensyer is an artist who originally hails from Germany, "We had flown to Miami on holiday, but it was crazy, a lot of crazy people there. Too noisy for us. So we decided to take a bus trip, that it might be a nice experience."

They will be taking an express bus to NY, which will shorten the time of their trip to Ontario to 12 hours. They paid $79 each for their tickets. "We made these plans at the last minute, so it was a price advantage to go by bus, and we are very pleased thus far," says Bachman in his German accent. "We would consider it again when we travel."

As departure time nears, an older man approaches from the parking lot. He is carrying a small white wooden table and a box of something. As he sets up, greeting passengers and families, he opens the box to reveal stacks of pocket-sized bibles. His name is James Leary, and he is the vice president of Street Reach, the mission to the homeless and hungry which is located in the heart of the city's streets. He has been coming to the bus station on weekends for the last 12 years, greeting people and passing out bibles.

"I've met people from all over the world," says Leary. "People come to enjoy the beach, visit relatives. Some are seeking jobs. Unless they are in the restaurant or hotel industry, many will not stay long." People spend the last of their money on a bus ticket here, pursuing the dream of living at the beach without really having a realistic plan for survival. Some have come here in the past for several months at a time, holding onto a job and a place to live. Some are forced out in the winter when the job market comes to a standstill, while others find they cannot keep up with the high cost of rent once off-season rates go up.

In his work at Street Reach, Leary tends to those who find themselves homeless. "There are different kinds of homeless. Some are trying to better themselves. They take part in the programs, get jobs, save money. Others want to be left alone. They live in the woods; they used to live right across the street here behind some tall bushes until the bushes were cut down. At one time, many of them were well off. They couldn't take the pressures of daily life, and they gave up," he explains, grabbing several bibles and going to meet the Carolina Trailways bus that has just pulled in.

The station proprietor comes out with a set of keys, the driver disembarks, and they open the baggage compartments in the belly of the Carolina Trailways bus - the southeastern carrier for Greyhound's nationwide fleet of more than 1,000 buses. Three young girls dressed in tank dresses and heels, their necks adorned with beads, scramble out of the terminal, and rush to store their baggage and wait anxiously by the door of the bus. A white biker and a couple of black guys stand in the shade, stretching their legs in the morning air. The biker takes a flask from his pocket, takes a swallow, and then hands it to the others, who each take a turn. The say goodbye as the biker retrieves his bag. He takes a cell phone out and dials. "Dude," he says, "guess where I am? Myrtle Beach." He hangs up and smiles, "That's my buddy. He'll be right here."

As he lowers his bulging duffel bag to the sidewalk to sit on, he stretches his legs with a contented sigh. "Believe it or not, my real name is Michael Jackson," he laughs. "I live here and went to Daytona for Bike Week last year. I'm just now making it back." A leg injury prevents him from traveling by motorcycle anymore, so he relies on Greyhound. "I go everywhere," says Jackson. "I like to meet people, stay a couple of months different places, but Myrtle Beach is my home base." He usually sleeps a lot on board, or makes friends with fellow passengers. "It's not a Harley, but at least I'm on the road."

A red pickup pulls up, and it's his ride. He waves to the guys he shared the flask with, who are headed back on to the bus. Kopalka the cab driver gets a fare, a slim and attractive brunette with designer luggage who eagerly waves to him from the terminal lot. With the last of the passengers boarded, the bus leaves the station. Leary packs up his bibles and leaves, passengers scurry to waiting rides and the station becomes quiet again, other than Skinner, sitting on her backpack and talking to her mom on her cell phone, and Phil, sitting on a bench near the entrance to the terminal, still trying to reach his boss.

11 a.m.

Andy Biddle, 24 and Robert Lewis Isaacs, 41 are both carpenters who had been living in Nashville, Tenn. When work dried up there, they decided to try Myrtle Beach, were Biddle had lived several years ago for a summer. They got their tickets through Travelers Aid, a national organization that helps people who find themselves stranded in an unfamiliar locale. Through the group, Biddle and Isaacs paid only $65 apiece for a one-way fare, rather than the usual $119.

After an 18-hour bus trip, they finally made it to the beach, and both are parched. Carrying huge backpacks, they make their way several blocks to Ocean Boulevard, stepping into an oceanfront bar for a cold beer. The bartender informs them they have to leave their backpacks outside. Biddle grumbles, "that's everything I own, man," then finds a spot to put the bags where they can keep an eye on them.

Having settled in comfortably with a pitcher of beer and an order of fries, they discuss their trip. They both complain about the conditions of the buses. "Some of them were okay, but the one coming into Myrtle Beach, the Carolina Trailways one...man, it was nasty. Smelled like piss." Isaacs rants about the seats. "That bus shouldn't have been allowed to be driven. The seats were all busted. They had one that had duct tape wrapped all around it, holding it together."

While they agree that the Myrtle Beach bus station is relatively safe, that isn't true of other stations. "We stepped off in Memphis, and that was a bad scene. One wrong turn, and you're in a really bad area of town. Atlanta is the same way," says Biddle. To pass the time, they listened to music on an FM radio, or slept. Biddle says he thought a lot about coming to the beach. "I've lived on the beach my whole life, I've still got family here. I'm glad to be back."

As for future plans now that they are here, both men are vague. "We already signed up for Able Labor, and we'll start work tomorrow. We'll probably just camp out somewhere at first." They finish their beer, grab their bags and head out, hoping to meet someone who might be able to point them in the right direction.

12 p.m.

Back at the station, Leary has returned and set up his bible stand. The taxis have lined up outside again, and the parking lot is full. Dwayne Moriarty, a cab driver who spends a lot of time sitting in front of the bus station, says "In the winter, there's not so much going on, you can go a whole day with out a fare here. Only a few people coming and going. Right now, we're getting five to 10 people per bus. Next month, that will double and by summer, it will triple."

Phil, the guy waiting for his boss to call and pay for his ticket, sits on a bench in a shady corner of the terminal lot, and as a woman walks down the street, she makes a beeline for him and joins him on the bench. Within a minute, Phil gets up and comes over by the terminal entrance, shaking his head. "Man, people will do anything for a couple of bucks. Myself, I ain't interested," he says.

Several people sit on metal benches in the terminal to escape the heat. There are vending machines for soda and snacks, a wall of lockers, and a restroom. "Many of Greyhound's company-owned terminals have restaurants where passengers can pick up a hot meal, and some have gift shops for things like magazines or candy," says Dustin Clark, a representative of Greyhound Corporate Communications. Smaller, independently owned terminals like Myrtle Beach can't always offer as much.

Jonathan Stell, a sales representative in his early 30s who lives in Myrtle Beach, comes in to get his ticket - a round trip fare from Myrtle Beach to Ft. Worth, Texas, where he is going on business. He paid $300. Airfare would have cost more than $700. "Airfare is expensive, and we didn't know far enough in advance to get a good deal," Stell explains. "If you know a month in advance, you can get a good airfare. I made my plans four days ago." His wife, Kylee Stell, waits outside with his bags. "I'm a little apprehensive about it. It's a long time on the bus." she says. Jonathan Stell leaves Myrtle Beach on the 12:10 p.m. bus and will arrive in Ft. Worth the following night at 7:30, for a total of more than 30 hours' traveling time.

"Greyhound has online tips - bring a pillow, something to snack on,'' he says. Some passengers bring iPods, DVDs and movies to pass the time. "Unlike other modes of travel, you can talk on your cell phone. And as a passenger, your hands are free to play electronic games, read a book or whatever," Greyhound spokesperson Abby Wambaugh adds.

The station proprietor comes out again from behind the counter as the bus pulls in, and the bus driver laughs and jokes with passengers as they unload. Leary is passing out bibles, and Tiffany Skinner is ready for her trip to Greenville to begin. She says it's a two-hour car ride, but the bus trip will take eight hours. She plans on reading to pass the time.

Two men waiting to board the bus get one last cigarette in. A.B. Vaelzuela and Jesus Palacios, both 20 and from Phoenix are heading home. They've been in Myrtle Beach for a week, partying and enjoying spring break. They like to travel and go different places - hot spots such as Miami, New York, and L.A., but this was their first time in Myrtle Beach, and their first bus trip. "We usually fly, so this was a new thing for us. Seeing different cultures and landscapes, people. We chose to do this," says Vaelzuela, who works in a car dealership back in Arizona. Palacios is an electrician. "We both have vehicles, so we could have driven, but with the coast of gas. It's like their motto, 'Leave the driving to us'." Palacios says. "We changed buses 7 or 8 times. Some were comfortable, the newer ones. They had comfortable seating and plenty of room." He laughs, "I never used the bathroom. It just made me nervous, the bus moving and all. And we had plenty of stops where we could get off and go in the station."

Says Vaelzuela, "There was some pretty weird people on some of the buses. People laughing and talking real loud. We brought our PSPs , watched "Texas Chainsaw Massacre" on DVD, and listened to rappers like Lil Wayne and Young Jeezy on our iPods." It was a long trip, spanning three days, seven stops and four transfers. "Probably on a shorter trip, the bus would be fine," says Vaelzuela, "but going from the West Coast to the East Coast the way we did, I don't know if I'd do that again. It was a mission, but we got it done."

'Happiness is a journey, not a destination.'
-Buddha

1 p.m.

A group of spring breakers, having just arrived in Myrtle Beach, gather in the terminal parking lot. The five guys, all in their early 20s and friends from Troy, N.Y. hoist backpacks on and pull their rolling luggage, heading towards the ocean and the Poindexter Hotel. It's 80 degrees in Myrtle Beach, hot and sunny. "t's a 20-hour bus trip. When we left New York, it was 55 degrees and raining," says Tom Cassey. "It's been a long adventure." "Yeah, there were some interesting characters," Cassey's buddy, Clive Owen, laughs. "There was this guy who called himself Chops, and once a month he rides from Albany, N.Y. to Raleigh, N.C. and then back again. He was a real trip." The guys head up the street towards their hotel, laughing and talking. "We're too cheap to get a cab," Cassey explains.

There's still about 10 people outside the bus station, waiting for rides. Shakeima Singleton and Lisa Singleton, sisters in their 20s from New York, are visiting Myrtle Beach for a hair show at the Myrtle Beach Convention Center their cousin is in. A fellow passenger, a wiry looking dude with an afro and a garbage bag of belongings, bums a cigarette from the girls and goes to stand across the street. The sisters laugh nervously, as the man walks away, talking to himself.

Another group of sisters, three girls in their late teens and early 20s sit on their luggage in the shade of the building. They are here to see a cousin, too. This one is performing in a cheerleading completion at The Palace Theatre. The girls, who had been warned against talking to strangers, are from New Haven, Conn., and it took 21 hours and three transfers to get to their destination. "It was a hot, miserable trip. The AC didn't work, the seats were uncomfortable. Some weird guy kept staring at us, almost the whole trip," says the oldest. "We played cards and listen to music - Lloyd and Keisha Cole." They wait for family members from Conway to pick them up. "I'll tell you one thing. I'm sick of carrying this big ass suitcase around with me."

 

2 p.m.

Phil, the guy waiting for the call from his boss, is still waiting, and his hopes for leaving the terminal today are fading fast. "He's got to call the ticket in and Greyhound has to process it. Who knows how long that will take." He explains that if it weren't for the problem with severe weather in Texas, he'd have been out of here yesterday. Why doesn't he buy his own ticket? "I took a layover here in Myrtle Beach, spent $150 for a room for a couple of days , which my boss will reimburse me for, but I can't afford to put out any more money," he says. He rubs his temples. "I really don't want to spend another night out here, but getting all upset about it isn't going to help matters."

A van pulls up and several men get out. "We're with the Street Reach program, and this guy came down here with a friend from Wilson, N.C. and got stuck here. So we got him some stuff to eat, and we're getting him a ticket back to Wilson, where he has family," explains Gerald Ward, who calls himself a disciple of the Street Reach Alcohol and Drug Program. "I came here with some money, but I didn't figure on getting robbed," says James Perry. "I'm real grateful to the Street Reach people, otherwise I probably would have been arrested, wondering around the streets with no money and no I.D."

The men go into the terminal to get Perry's ticket, and return minutes later with a problem. The four-and-a-half-hour trip by car to Wilson, N.C. will take close to 24 hours, due to a 17-hour layover in Raleigh, N.C. The men decide to run back to the shelter and get more sandwiches and bottled water for Perry's trip.

A late model Chevy pulls up with a young woman driving, and a young man emerges from the passenger seat. There is a little boy in back. The guy gets out, grabs a bag from the back seat, and waves as the woman pulls away. "That was my fiancé," says John Norris, 20, as he fumbles for a cigarette. "Not any more." The little boy with them wasn't his son, but he had thought of him that way. "We moved to Myrtle Beach from North Carolina two months ago, and everything fell apart. I'm going back to North Carolina, to stay with my family."

The Chevy pulls into the parking lot again, and the woman gets out of the car. She looks pissed. "I guess she hasn't finished telling me off yet," says Norris, as he sheepishly gathers his stuff and goes to where the woman is standing, hands on her hips, the little boy shuffling his feet at her side.

 

3 p.m.

The Street Reach guys are back with Perry, who now has a bag of sandwiches to keep him fed through his 17-hour layover. The cheerleading girls from Connecticut finally get their ride, as family members show up and a raucous reunion takes place. John Norris goes to check the schedule, and takes the little boy with him. They emerge minutes later, but now the boy is holding a crisp dollar bill, examining it closely as Norris and his ex-fiancé talk. More people show up with bags, and crowd the ticket counter.

A teenage girl gets out of a car flanked by two older women who are running through a checklist with her. "You've got your ticket?" the older woman asks. "Yes," the girl replies. "Did you pack some heavy clothes?" "Yes," the girl responds, irritation evident in her voice. "Do you have your cell phone charger?" "Yes, mother." "Do you have change for the snack machines in case you get hungry?" "Mother, please!" the girl snaps. "I have everything I'll need!" At 3:30 p.m., the bus pulls in, and the girl hugs the two older ladies. The older of the women starts to cry. "This is her first time away from home by herself," she explains.

As the bus empties, there are only three arriving passengers this time, and seven people departing. A young man with dreadlocks gets off and ducks into a corner of the building for a smoke, while a grey-haired woman leans out the door and snaps a picture of the station before disappearing back onto the bus.

 

4 p.m.

A blonde woman in her 20s sits on her bags, back against the wall, waiting for her ride. "I used to live here in Myrtle Beach," says the woman, who gives her name as Connie. "I've been spending time in Dallas, but I was ready to come back." She's no stranger to bus travel, having taken Greyhound buses up and down the East Coast. "I went from Florida to Pennsylvania once. That was a long trip. I usually try to find someone to talk to on the bus, that way we can kind of look out for each other." She takes the bus because it's cheaper than flying, and she prefers to let someone else drive. "It's tough on a long trip, though. You're tired, feeling yucky. There's no decent food at any of the stations. A hot meal and a shower are going to feel real good."

One by one, the arriving passengers get a ride or wander off, and the only person left at the terminal is Phil. He watches as the last car pulls away, then reaches into his pocket for his cell phone to try his boss again. Across the street, the sounds of kids playing miniature golf echo across the parking lot. The kids scream so loud it sounds like they are on a rollercoaster.

 

5 p.m.

Up the street and around the corner from the gas station is the Save Mart, which sees its share of people from the bus station. Thomas Bedenec works behind the counter, while his buddy J.T. sweeps the parking lot. "Oh, yeah, we get them. We're the closest convenience store. They come in for snacks, smokes," he says. "They prop their stuff over by the pay phone in the parking lot, come in and ask for quarters. The pay phone doesn't work, but they'll hang there for a few, and pass the time." Bedenec says the store doesn't have a strict policy on people bringing their bags in. "Most of these folks hang on tight to their bags. If we're not too busy, we'll let them bring them in with them. If we have a lot of customers and we're busy, they've got to leave them outside."

Back at the bus station, a small and lively crowd gathers for the last bus of the day, which is not scheduled to arrive for another two hours. As day turns to evening, stray cats begin to appear, darting back and forth across the terminal lot and taking chances crossing the busy avenue. A red pickup drops off two tanned and brawny men, and they head into the terminal. They are from Johnsonville, and they have been working construction in Myrtle Beach.

Two younger guys in hoodies pace by the front door, begging a cigarette as the Johnsonville guys approach. The one bumming the smoke says his name is Nick and his buddy is Chris, and the four start up an immediate conversation. Nick and Chris tell of their woes at finding fair wages in Myrtle Beach. "Man, we were doing these projects, sharing the profits. The one day my share was $15. Man, I can't live on $15. I got a kid staying with my mom, and I got to send them money," Chris explains to the men. He tells them his bus won't leave till tomorrow morning. They ask about his plans for the night, and Chris says he doesn't know. He turns to Nick and says, "Man, we better figure out what to do. Quick."

6 p.m.

The parking lot fills up in anticipation of arrivals and departures. Inside the terminal a couple in their 40s with an elderly man, sit in the waiting area. The elderly man is the woman's father, and they are taking a trip together to his hometown of Akron, Ohio. The trio waits patiently, not talking much and avoiding eye contact with the other passengers.

A lanky brunette leans against the lockers fingering a locker key while she examines a map. She says she's headed for Virginia, and every few minutes she looks up and gives a laugh. What's so funny? "I can't believe I'm doing this. You have no idea how crazy my life is." She grabs her cigarettes and heads outside. "There's a lot of people dragging me down here," she says, frowning. "Time to get out of Dodge."

 

7 p.m.

The proprietor announces the terminal is closing, and all passengers have to wait outside. The sun is starting to set, and people stand in little groups talking. The guys from Johnsonville are chatting up two girls in Capri pants and baseball caps. A guy driving a blue SUV stands beside his vehicle with his wife, an open can of beer in his hand. He had just gotten off work, and he's picking up his wife's sister, who is arriving from Danville, N.C. "What should be a four-hour drive is 17 hours by bus. They got an hour-and-a-half layover in Raleigh. It's a pain in the ass, but it's cheap," he explains.

As the bus pulls in, the proprietor takes a break from sweeping and reaches for the baggage compartment keys. As the passengers disembark, they grab their luggage and hurry off, one couple into a cab and a couple of young guys in concert T-shirts into a waiting car. The guy drinking a beer by his truck calls out, "Hey Viv" to a middle-aged woman grinning broadly and goes to help her with her bags, chucking his empty beer into the garbage can on his way. "I got a lot more of those waiting at home," he says laughing to the woman.

Lonely days lead to lonely nights, take a trip to the city lights and take the long way home.
-Supertramp

8 p.m.

Dan Hogan came in on the last bus, but unlike some of the other passengers, he has no ride waiting. With his bags piled around him, he fumbles for change at the pay phone. "I'm coming from Atlanta. I have a buddy who lives here in Myrtle Beach, but I can't get a hold of him." He grumbles about how long the ride was, about how hungry he is. He looks up and down the street and notes how deserted the bus station is. "Atlanta's terminal is jumping, but it's not all that safe. " Atlanta is one of the busiest Greyhound stations in the country and, like many of the larger terminals in New York and Dallas, has arrivals and departures 24-hours a day. As it gets dark, Hogan grabs his bags and head down towards U.S. 501. "I'm just going to start walking. I really don't feel like hanging here all night."

9 p.m.

Lights are on throughout the city and Seventh Avenue N. is completely deserted, save for a few cars in the lot of Mount Atlanticus. The stray cats roam freely now, and the cabs are gone. The only one left is Phil, who still hasn't heard from his boss. He grabs his bags and for the first time today, he leaves the station. He heads up to the Save Mart to get a cup of coffee and maybe a bag of chips. Then he'll come back to the bus station, to his overnight camp in the bushes across the street, and wait for tomorrow. Trying to sound optimistic, he says, "Maybe it will work out. This will be my second night in a row sleeping down here. If I can get through tonight, I'm sure my boss will call by tomorrow. Probably not the first bus out, but maybe that afternoon." Looking up and down the empty street, he contemplates his life, the situation he's in. "What can I do?" he says. "Hey, you make your own destiny."

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