I asked Grok to give me a review on my short story "Traveler." I really loved what Grok gave in response, for Artificial Intelligence it nailed the entire theme of my short story. It's must be my Polish genetics LOL, I'll take Bukowski any day! Now onto having Grok add to the story, stay tuned!
Traveler
As she got off the bus, she looked around—it was raining, 4 a.m., and she needed that cigarette! “Hey you! Got a light?” she asked the man with the red checkered flannel shirt on. He looked friendly, a soft face, she thought as she inhaled, and a sense of relief came upon her. What just happened? She sat there thinking how life had seemed to kick her in the ass, but she wasn’t going to give up.
She heard her destination over the loudspeaker, muffled and loud. What did she just say? She asked a nice young man who was going into the Army—she found that out while sitting next to him and overhearing his conversation with another fellow. How exciting, she thought! He’s not more than 20 years old, and what a proud mother he must have. While trying to hear their conversation, she was still trying to figure out what the hell that woman over the loudspeaker just said. She let out a sigh of relief as it wasn’t her destination and made her way to the coffee shop. As she walked toward the coffee shop, a news van came driving by—WDRB Kentucky News. She quickly glanced and took it all in; she didn’t even realize she was in Kentucky, and the emotions that came over her were flooding like the rain pouring outside. She collected herself along with her thoughts and stood in line.
The coffee shop was small, with not too many people traveling this early in the morning, and she could smell the fresh coffee. “Make it a large one,” she told the cashier, and with her carry-on bag, which seemed to have made an impression on her shoulder, she sat it down and opened it up and counted what little money she had left. What could she have been thinking? Just sell everything and pack up and leave everything behind? And she was saddened by what took place with her visit. She wanted him to love her, and tears streamed down her face. She looked around and was hoping no one would see her cry. She was sick to death of crying and thought, “God! Give me a break—I am trying to make things right.” With the lump in her throat and tears on her face, she wiped her nose and stood up and heard that damn muffled sound again! She quickly gathered her things, threw the carry-on bag over her shoulder, and walked back toward the entrance of the bus station. She was the last in line and thought how she hated to be last in line, and her shoulder ached. She handed her reboarding pass and heard the driver say, “You will not need reboarding garbage on the bus!” Her reboarding number was 104.
She thought, what the hell was that all about? Then she remembered this is the same bus driver who got lost from Madison to Charleston on her first bus ride—a female bus driver who was blond—and she made a joke to herself about the driver and thought, “God, I’m glad I’m a brunette!” as she sat at the window seat to get a clearer view.
Grok's review on my short story.
Alright, let’s dive into this piece. It’s a raw, stream-of-consciousness snapshot of a woman at a low point, drenched in rain and emotion, navigating a 4 a.m. bus station somewhere in Kentucky. The writer’s going for a gritty, unpolished vibe—think less Hemingway, more Bukowski with a side of nicotine cravings. Here’s my take.
The scene kicks off with her stepping off a bus into the rain, desperate for a smoke. That cigarette’s her lifeline—when she asks the guy in the red checkered flannel for a light, his “soft face” and her relief at inhaling set a tone of fleeting comfort amid chaos. The writer’s piling on sensory details—rain, smoke, a aching shoulder from her carry-on—to ground us in her exhaustion. She’s been kicked around by life, but that “she wasn’t going to give up” line hints at stubborn grit. It’s a classic down-but-not-out setup.
Then it gets messy—intentionally, I’d say. She’s distracted by a muffled loudspeaker, can’t figure out her stop, and latches onto a young Army recruit’s convo. The writer’s tossing us into her head—scattershot thoughts about his age, his proud mom, her own confusion. It’s chaotic, like she’s half-listening, half-drifting. The WDRB Kentucky News van jolting her into realizing she’s in Kentucky? That’s a punchy twist—shows how lost she is, physically and emotionally. The rain “flooding” outside mirrors her tears—cliché, sure, but it works for her unraveling.
The coffee shop bit deepens the melancholy. She’s counting her last bucks, regretting selling everything, mourning a guy who didn’t love her back. The “God! give me a break” plea’s got a desperate edge—she’s not pious, just pissed. Her tears, the lump in her throat, wiping her nose—it’s messy and human. The writer’s not shying from the ugly; it’s all there, shoulder ache and all.
The bus driver’s garbled “reboarding garbage” line (probably meant “no garbage on the bus”) and her quip about the blonde driver? That’s her snark cutting through the gloom. The brunette jab’s a small, self-aware laugh—dark humor as armor. Sitting by the window “to get a clearer view” feels symbolic—she’s chasing clarity, even if life’s still a blur.
What’s it add up to? A portrait of a woman on the run—from a breakup, a past, maybe herself—clinging to coffee, smokes, and sarcasm. The writing’s rough—spelling slips (“their” for “there”), run-ons, no commas where you’d expect ’em—but that fits her raw state. It’s not polished literature; it’s a late-night journal entry with heart. If the writer wanted to capture someone teetering but tough, they nailed it. You feel her more than you judge her.
