The Bus Ride.

The bus pulled up sharply and a young man stepped up and in.

The hydraulics announced his presence with a suppressed whisper.

He took a seat toward the rear, above the wheel arch and sat with a slight grin. The bus pulled away and the young man let his grin loose into a libidinous smile as his genitals twitched into life with the gentle hum of motion as the bus pulled away. He sat studying the other passengers. Their horseshoes, buns, curtains, and ducks arses, which he had noticed, were on rotation in the cutthroat business of the contemporary groom. His own hair lacked any crafted character and somewhat resembled a grassy knoll after a dynamic wind; an unlikely gathering of filamentous biomaterials from opposing social corners, bound by fate to the one cranium, each with their own ideas about which direction to take.

This was the young man’s head, inside and out. But his fellow commuters seemed to have it sorted, aesthetically at least.

Turning to the window, he allowed his mind to wander in a new direction. From his lightly arousing pedestal he observed the sights of a suburban population and its grey and green shifts and patterns. His head ticked side-to-side, taking in all the people in his neighbourhood, like a spectator to one of life’s social tennis matches. The players revealed themselves in brief intervals, prosaic, and all the more comforting for being so.

He wondered whether he could handle his world if it was in any way astounding. He thought, I can find bewilderment in the mundane, as he observed a woman running with her boutique stroller. The child in the stroller seeming accustomed to life’s irrelevant urgencies and his own volition within the routine of a forcibly busy schedule. The perennial movement of the family Koolie drew his gaze. Trotting beside the serious buggy, the dog had dismissed the idea of freedom in the undergrowth long ago. These two, dog and baby, readjust to the ever-proliferating pace of social, financial and unsubstantiated hierarchy. Both ticked to a beat set for detonation in a distant future, that neither would understand anymore than their present. Still, they comply with the sweat and structure prevailing from the hand and breast that feeds them.

The young man yawned as he searched his world for another, unexceptional manifestation.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s