first paragraph of a short story or novel

"I told you not to drink the rest of that pop." He bellowed.
The son sank in his bus seat and moaned. Waiting to be heard.
"Maybe we can take him in to the university stop." she replyed.
"and have to wait another half hour! Forget that, he should know better, he can wait." he shouted.
Rocking back and forth the child starts to sob and sob, while those on the bus dressed in browns and oranges reflecting the fall season ignore and think about other more pleasent things.
"It hurts, it really hurts, I have to go." the boy quietly muttered.
"oh stop it. be quiet, he has to learn to be able to hold it like a man." He shouts.
"But I have to go, can't I go." He pleads.
"Where out there in the parking lot, here, here is a cup, go in the cup." He smirks.
She says nothing. The boy looks straight at his father begging silently like a wonded mutt.
"Well this is your own fault, if you had listened to me you'd be ok." he snarled.
All the while she sat silent. Slumped. She wore a blue jacket and waistless slacks the kind fifty year old janitors wear to move comfortably while ploding through a tough night shift at a bank or monasori school. She says nothing. Smiles occasionally at the long haired kid who looks back the odd time in disgust.
"I gotta go." rocking in a painful and distressing sea, the boy resembles a boye bobbing up and down as the bus hits the speed bumps. Approaching the university. Hoping he will let him go. Knowing that he will not.