Thursday, December 07, 2006


Exerting a cycle of contemplation on the large cubic automobile inside which my person resides.
Often my presence, my physical being, all the room my body fills and the entirety of the air I intake is accompanied by the strangers which are held tightly within the little confined compartment.
They leave and breathe for a moment and for the brevity of torturing minutes, they are succeeded by the next commuters. And so this cyclical process is strong and alive just as much as the strangers themselves are, when glittering yellowish monotony abounds the winding streets.
Two of them are seemingly female though facial features and manners and language would make a starving homeless dog vomit its guts through its nose at the mere thought of a Ritz-style dinner.
Clearly some years ahead of middle-age with voices reminding me of the decibels I dread of experiencing when confronted by the sinister nuclear-threat drill which could crack a wine glass from miles away.
Disgust which touches perfection. Four words with the continual
potential to sum up in a cherry nutshell everything which can be said about the lives of these two women. Meaning? All four one, one four all…
With undisguised glances, I am at least thankful for this patch of needy voyeurism in the mundane brutishly incessant monotony which carries away the remnants of the day.
Their conversation, the crudeness of tone and language reminiscent of a Viking tactic discussion prior to a landmark battle, falls on my already exhausted ears.
All of their children, apparently, either in prison, kicked out of a mental institution or simply belonging to hell’s darker chambers, are as such as one would most logically suppose at the first sight of these two driftwoods.
The bus stops abruptly and unknown to my consciousness, I have arrived at my longed destination.
I leave these two beauties alone at the hands of the driver, also unknown to whom, for the duration of an entire bus journey, was a muscle in God’s right hand.
The bus will end its route, but driftwoods would drift with more and more wheels to carry them for years and years to come…


At 8 December 2006 at 16:32 , Blogger Edgewalker said...

Ok, that was awesome. Very descriptive. Turning an otherwise ordinary experince, into something worthy of being read. One's vocabulary can turn the mundane into interesting literature. You proved that with this article.

Nice job

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