(no subject)
"I'm sitting on the corner, watching people in their bright, speedy cars. It's as if I've seen enough of their stories that I can claim to know them ; maybe I have. Some of them wave, but some of them are far too consumed that I find myself repeating my sentences and wondering if they even hear me. I look down the street, and start to question if the bus is ever coming. The bus always has a friend on it, that has the same ' transportation' issues that I do, and for a little while, I won't question why I'm so down on my luck.
Nevertheless, I sit there, maybe listening to music, maybe picking at my jeans or going through my pockets. I don't understand what makes me want to yell at everyone in traffic, makes me want to let them know i'm here. Everyone with cars, with the Gt's, and Hummers, with pickup trucks and with geo metros -- aren't we all beneficially of the same value? A face so familiar passes me by, but the affection once there seems bitter as they speed by to a party I would never belong to. Another speeds by in yet another set of arms. One looks at me as if they remember me, but can't remember quite where they met me.
Paper and pen can't quite explain how I've been feeling lately, and that's where I learned books can be so apathetic. However, tinted windows and mere signs of aquaintance isn't exactly precipitating the therapeutic rain i've been looking for the past few days. I'm usually pretty optimistic, and I still nod hopefully at the people I never knew as they walk by, but i can't help but wonder --
When is this freakin' bus gonna get here?"