The bus was an amazing cacophony of love/hate/want/desire/power/shoppers last night. Not only were there opposing forces of telephone based music, battling it out for supremacy but also a group of Danish table tennis players on their way back from a day out in the big smoke. It was all a bit much for my delicate senses, especially with all that has been going on recently.
The two telephones popped out their varied blends of youth music, which incidentally i find to be sub-standard despite not being a fan of the eagles or led zep. It was like a giant game of musical ping pong with the danes, ironically, as the net. As tensions in the match rose to fever pitch, the bus stopped and one competitor got off. It was anticlimatic, but proportionately so.
The danes whittered whooped and chirped in their strange alien language. They slapped each others shoulders and drew Danish penises on the condensated bus windows. They had that which can only be felt by a teenager on a trip away from parental fingers and the prying eye of power. To escape both them and the music i had to enter a trance which can only be obtained when one truly understands the zen of the bus. I say zen, but could alternatively use the word, pork, for such a thing. I watch the condensation group and form into droplets, then rivulets and then fall into the pool of Amonto, just by my resting elbow. It is amazing just how quickly i am home after entering this state.
No comments:
Post a Comment