The incredulity of it all, my own perceived notion, which lambastes my thoughts. The recollection of unalterated self-imposed handicap, with irony mixed in. For example, can someone claim they were "poor," when they, in the end acquired a masters degree and at least was able to attend high school, didn't sleep on dirt floors, or had more than one pair of underwear, or had more than one meal per day, or, or, or...?
All interrupted by smell. Instead of odor derived from glands, portrays itself as heavily doused cologne with a thread of sodium sulfide. The bus is like this. The hammer against introspection.
The "offender?" Male, pale green polo, jeans, carefully styled hair, stares insipidly down at his electronics; all the while erupting SBD's. [If you're unaware of the acronym, then think back to elementary/junior high. If still unaware, then I've already wasted too many words on this parenthetical.] He shifts over, creating a sort of makeshift sardine can arrangement. The comfort level increases to abundant levels. When I look ahead, I am witness to many empty seats. It's time to sigh, grit my teeth, and count to ten.