Sitting at the bus stop and I notice the icy rain swirling in the light of the street lamp. A man sat next to me eating first a pie and then chicken chips, holding a rolled up newspaper. His hands were large and dirty, with a plaster on two fingers. He could have been waiting for a bus, but in the end he was only waiting for himself.
He left to go west, leaving me counting down the digits on the flickering bus sign. 045: five minutes to go.
This is the first time I wish I had gloves in this city.
I always have visions of the bus driving into me as I stand up to hail it down, and this time is no different. I have to step backwards as the front of the bus sails over the curb. No friendly smile for me as I shiver on, but there is also no quick jerk of the bus flying off before I hit my seat this time.
The next man on almost got left behind as he stands in black, only a sliding squeal saves him from the rain. He gets on holding a conversation with himself and departs again for the black four stops later.
Almost home and a ginger man greets the driver with a hearty voice. She asks him where he's been because she's been looking all over the place for him. His answer is lost as he moves down the bus, but he returns to perch behind her soon.
My stop is last on K' Rd and I have to push past the ginger man as he explains his latest exploits.
"Thank you" Goodbye.
Home and sleep await like lovers waiting in the dark, but I am still distracted from the latter by the sounds of words resounding in my head.
The sky is firing a million bullets of ice.
There are bellows and drums.
I am almost afraid the rain will come in and crush me in my nest.
Tuesday, 24 June 2008
Saturday, 7 June 2008
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