Unedited freewrite, very choppy with lots of fragments, all purposeful.
He always wondered, while looking out the window of the bus on his mid-morning commute to school, about everyone else. About all of the people around him, constantly surrounding him, forever there, doing whatever it is they’re doing without (at least they seemed, occasionally) a worry in the world. A lot like ants, if you thought about it, you can’t really, from above (as he thought he was), see any logic to their scurrying about. And of course, despite thinking he was above them, he wondered too, if his movements were equally perplexing. That if he were to watch himself, but from a viewpoint not his own, like as a different person, the government or aliens or something, that if he watched himself, he would see any logic to his movements. To his overall pattern of living, which inevitably led down the same roads, to the same places almost inexorably. It was rather depressing, when he got to this part, to realize that he wasn’t, in fact, any better than all of the other people on the bus, than anyone in the world at all, really. And, like every other time he rode the bus (daily, excluding weekends, depending on if he were going out on weekends [he usually doesn’t]), he would get only slightly sad before stopping this train of thought, and it jumped to something he enjoyed more. Now, something he enjoyed more is quite a large spectrum of things, so we’ll take a look at what he jumped too today. Today, after bypassing his depressing thoughts, he began to think of outer space. Not in any cosmological or astrophysical way, but more in a mystical, almost metaphysical way. He never really thought of himself as a philosopher (is what he told people, when in reality that’s exactly what he thought of himself), but on occasion he would spin quite the convoluted theory of everything. He knew someday he would answer the world’s questions, all of them; he would someday understand why everyone is here. But until that day, he would think about how depressing his existence is, and then, like always, begin thinking about other things; things that made him, if only slightly, happier.