Like out of a twisted dream, a spindly bloke of curious attire gingerly traverses the articulated bus aisle with lanky disposition. I am reminded more of something out of a "steampunk" novel than the reality now faced, and I even wonder a bit if I have fallen asleep in my seat and somehow entered into the Otherworld. However when I look around everyone and everything else appears as it did when I first entered the scene. He approaches, one giant stride in front of the other: gold denim, gold-colored leather shoes, gold-hued spring jacket, gold-billed cap all arranged in a rather psychotic monochromatic assembly. The only item of any discernible difference is his socks that peek out from the gap between his shoes and pants: red with one white stripe.
He stops short of my three-seat side-facing row by the backdoor and hesitates there like a loitering member of the drug subculture outside of a "Kwikstop." He remains there undecided for those mere moments that invariably stretch our human perception of time into something unreal, "unshort;" he lingers there swiveling his head as a robot might: with definite servo-like precision of an exact span of no less than one-hundred seven arc-degrees. With an abrupt and snappish flick, his entire form goes rigid while with avid apparent pause his subroutines kicks into gear from his likely post industrial age manufactured brain to bend and rotate those apparatae into a collective of movements and positions himself into the row of my current abode. I react with a soft sigh, as I always am so conscious of the space around me and the sudden lack of it.
-For now I have become the seat public transportation companion of an Apple white earbud wearing "Gold Man." How does it feel...
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