On the bus from the north side of the city to the south-east side, i’m clutching my tropical-print backpack to my chest, feeling too contemplative to do any reading. I just watch the people around me, and form eloquent descriptions of them in my head. I am in the very last row, my back to the rear window of the bus, able to survey the motley passengers.
There is a guy to my right reading ‘Fahrenheit 451’, with “gmail” written on his hand in black Sharpie. I feel really good. I’m not sure if I’m on the right bus. There are a group of maybe construction workers all chatting with each other. I can’t hear them, because I’m listening to Al Green. They are all quite attractive in an average sort-of way. Their hands are rough from manual labor, their fingernails short, and faces wood grain and dry, with five o’clock shadow. Something inside me wants to write, ‘these are men’, but I refrain. There’s a lot of traffic on the bridge. The guy with “gmail” on his hand is ‘sleeping’. His shoes remind me of middle school; I think they are non-‘Chuck Taylor’ Converse. There are two people on this bus with snowboards. Fuck, I think I missed my stop.
It’s strange seeing a car pass-by that is the same as the car your parents drove in high school. Makes you wonder if these people are similar to your family. They probably don’t gang-up on their mom. They probably talk about feelings.
Every time I see a brunette with bangs I wonder if she is a writer/blogger.
I’m on a different bus now, heading from east to west, and we are just parked here, waiting. I don’t know why. I just want to go to Whole Foods and buy a Kombucha.
There is a First Nations girl at the front of the bus wiping her nose with a napkin, her hand shaking uncontrollably. She isn’t crying. She is touching her face with the napkin in an odd manner, her cheek and mouth muscles seizing and shaking. I feel weird for sitting here watching and diagnosing her with Tardive Dyskinesia, possibly resulting from extended use of anti-psychotic medication. Maybe she’s too young for that. Maybe it’s early-onset Parkinson’s. She looks no older than, say- Oh, she has exited the bus. Maybe she was having one of those seizures where you can hardly even tell that you’re having a seizure at all.
I don’t know what other people think about.