The bus stop was crowded with people
that appeared to have emerged from 1989. Stone washed jeans covered their legs
and their fall jackets were a bit short and neon. The women had hair teased up
too high and poorly dyed. The men looked as if they had found their outfits in
some lost and found bin at the airport. Perhaps brown dress shoes, light blue
jeans and white socks work in Prague but there’s something not quite right
about it on a Tuesday morning at a Chicago bus stop.
Then it occurred to me that those
people, while dressed like some sort of living monument to a bygone era, are at
least going somewhere. While I, I sit in my underwear at my computer look out
at them. They have a greater purpose than I can possibly fathom. I’m positive
that their lives have meaning, at least more meaning than my underwear clad
one.
The bus arrived and the fashion
challenged boarded in orderly and quiet obedience. Now the bus stop is bare of
any activity. It’s just there, sitting silently for the next group of people. I
think about it like a Venus Flytrap for some reason. As if the kiosk will bait
the unsuspecting folks with the lure of a ride on the bus and as soon as they
sit down, CHOMP, and down comes some giant jaws. Blood squirts out onto the
street but the passing cars hardly notice because the people driving them are
too busy having their brains sucked dry by the latest Apple iDevice.
The walkers, the pedestrians, they
don’t notice anything out of the ordinary. It’s just business as usual for the
Venus Bus Kiosk. God damn murdering bus
kiosks. There oughta be a law.
I think about these things as I sit
here in my underwear, wondering if I’ll ever be gainfully employed ever again.
The thing about unemployment is how
free your mind is to dwell on the emotional side of life. Lately I’ve been
wounded by the constant insincerity of people I thought I knew, but maybe never
actually knew at all. I’ve discovered how worn out I am by passive aggressive
behavior and the constant nonsense people feel the need to push onto each
other. I met an Irish couple last night. They were a young couple which
recently got married. A week ago in fact. The funny thing about them, really,
was that there was no bullshit about them. They were who they were and they
felt no need to pretend otherwise. I threw on my weakest brogue and spoke to
them at length. The woman was from town, the guy was from a farm, and was still
a farmer.
It was obvious she was from town.
She danced like a townie while he hung back against the bar and rubbed his
scruffy chin. I could tell he was wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself
into. She obviously loved him though and stopped her gyrating to mash his face
and tell him he was a weirdo. Ah, Irish love. They were headed to Vegas for their
“Honeymoon”. As I write this I suddenly
hope they made and were not devoured by the bus stop. I guess I felt good
around them though. They were new and interesting and without pretension in any
way. It was refreshing. I think I’ll go put pants on.
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