(no subject)
I scratched at my scalp with bitten nails and wondered what it looked like underneath all that hair. I was standing at the bus station on a damp afternoon, everything a touch too warm for comfort. For a while I pondered shaving my head to reveal the skin underneath - no doubt scarred and blemished from years of a nasty habit, that abrasive scratching and picking not borne out of an itch, but out of boredom and anxiety. I imagined having a wig made of my own hair so I could cover and uncover my head as we all do with everything below it. I lit a cigarette to occupy my hands.
A few feet away sat a morbidly obese woman with a shapeless pink Tshirt stretched over a violently aqua dress. She panted in the heat and addressed two effete asian boys to her side; "Do you smoke? You do? You should stop! She's smoking!". Suddenly aware I was being talked about, I lowered my sunglasses and glared at the wretched woman through them. She continued to question the asian duo beside her, who occasionally leaned closer to hear a question but awkwardly didn't step closer to listen, maintaining the space between them. "Do you have pet shops in Japan?" she demanded. Yes they did. "Do you have a dog?". Yes they did. "Do you have goldfish?". No. "Are you going to get some goldfish?". No they weren't. "So you don't eat goldfish? You know they eat goldfish in Japan!". Odd looks were exchanged, but no, they did not eat goldfish. Resting her arms over her sorry breasts she surveyed her audience from the throne of the bus shelter and conceded that no, perhaps it was the Americans who ate goldfish.
A young girl sipping from a water bottle approached the bus stand and was similarly interrogated by the woman on the type of water she was drinking; was it spring water? tap water? still water? sparkling water? flavoured water? warm water? cool water? Dispensing advice like a nightmarish Buddha she declared that only spring water that you had run through a filter at home as an added precaution was safe to put in your body. I had the violent urge to kick her face in, who was she whose mass lolled over the entire bench to comment on health matters, from smoking to water preference to the digestion of goldfish?
I seethed with prickling skin until my bus arrived, and spent the subsequent journey clawing my skin to banish the sensation.
A few feet away sat a morbidly obese woman with a shapeless pink Tshirt stretched over a violently aqua dress. She panted in the heat and addressed two effete asian boys to her side; "Do you smoke? You do? You should stop! She's smoking!". Suddenly aware I was being talked about, I lowered my sunglasses and glared at the wretched woman through them. She continued to question the asian duo beside her, who occasionally leaned closer to hear a question but awkwardly didn't step closer to listen, maintaining the space between them. "Do you have pet shops in Japan?" she demanded. Yes they did. "Do you have a dog?". Yes they did. "Do you have goldfish?". No. "Are you going to get some goldfish?". No they weren't. "So you don't eat goldfish? You know they eat goldfish in Japan!". Odd looks were exchanged, but no, they did not eat goldfish. Resting her arms over her sorry breasts she surveyed her audience from the throne of the bus shelter and conceded that no, perhaps it was the Americans who ate goldfish.
A young girl sipping from a water bottle approached the bus stand and was similarly interrogated by the woman on the type of water she was drinking; was it spring water? tap water? still water? sparkling water? flavoured water? warm water? cool water? Dispensing advice like a nightmarish Buddha she declared that only spring water that you had run through a filter at home as an added precaution was safe to put in your body. I had the violent urge to kick her face in, who was she whose mass lolled over the entire bench to comment on health matters, from smoking to water preference to the digestion of goldfish?
I seethed with prickling skin until my bus arrived, and spent the subsequent journey clawing my skin to banish the sensation.