9-October-2009 3:36PM

Woman, man?

Who can tell?

Purple-blue hair cut into a bob, fat beyond all reason, lip ring, chain hanging from a black pant pocket, trite smirk embossed on Its mug, like It let one go in silence thusly gassing Its tailgating passenger stream. It sits upon an elevated side-facing row and takes up one and three-quarters seats and pulls an Apple laptop from a lime green bicycle messenger bag and opens it up. The duly noted said smirk exits stage left, and then It closes the computer and slides it back into Its satchel.

Next item on the business agenda is to return the said smirk back to the face, the ultra-loud friction-squeak elicited from the right angle turn at the articulation the catalyst for such an action.
Where does the chin and the neck meet, where does it all end and begin?
Questions are begged, enquiries are made…perhaps licenses should be revoked, or strict diets instituted.

Later, the lady who sat next to me when the blitzkrieg junkie performed a strip tease (on the afternoon ride of July 1st of this year) and was finally physically removed from the bus now sits within the articulation, while the large dude next to me chats about having a guitar crushed during a turn on the accordion section of the bus having improperly placed the instrument in the pinch point.
Now him and his significant other chow down on sunflower seeds and cashews, dropping them here and there, there and everywhere.

I like the lady that sat next to me during the psycho pole dance by the way, so cool, so collected; tough customer.

Awesome.

These latter two though, man!
Hopefully they exit soon. If I were a wagering grifter, I’d say they’re coming off some premium bud, but then, who am I to speculate?