Night Bus — The Space Between Stops
A short reflection on transit, stillness, and the music that carries us home.
By Rafi Mercer
There are songs that arrive with you, and others that meet you halfway — Night Bus is the latter. Burial doesn’t announce himself here; he hovers. The sound feels borrowed from the street rather than composed for a room, as if it’s already been playing long before you noticed it. Low pulses drift like streetlights slipping past fogged glass, while textures crackle with the residue of rain, memory, and distance.
This isn’t music for movement, but for transit — the quiet minutes when you’re neither arriving nor leaving, just passing through.
No hooks. No declarations. Just a held breath stretched across the city.
Listening to Night Bus feels like sitting alone on the top deck, watching London exhale.
Nothing happens — and that’s exactly why it matters.
Rafi Mercer writes about the spaces where music matters.
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