Mistakenly, I ride the ordinary bus.
Some details of the ride:
1. The guy who sat beside me (who had tattoo of a small dragon—ahem, lizard), just left and I’m now sitting on his seat, feeling the ephemeral imprint of his butt heat
2. Our conductor for tonight is a girl. She invited the passengers to go down at Paseo. Her androgenous announcement: “Pasyo” like Tasyo with a P
3. I think I like this experience better. No tinted windows barring the sights, sounds, speeding breeze, sometimes faint cold air from an opened entrance of a building. No tinted windows trapping recycled air. The passengers might as well breathe through each other’s noses and mouths. And then the lost sign pen I remember again, like a recurring itch.
Alfie needed me to understand that we should be extra mindful of borrowed things (congrats, mission accomplished). But he should understand what extraordinary stupor struck me. I had to let go of everything, encompassing abstract (thoughts) and concretes (his sign pen). It was fucking James Jean and I can’t believe. I. touched his hand. And I wasn’t able to mutter anything. I had to let go of my tongue too. Or maybe Alfie was just tired and a bit angry at everything that happened.
It’s official: I overthink.
4. Another ordinary fare bus observation: most of the passengers are men. Ironically the conductor is a woman. Repel the stares by employing the unreadable nano handwriting. I bet no one appreciates the beauty that is writing in a small notebook.
Fragilest of thoughts.
I can’t stop writing.
I am riding Royal Star Transport. People just care about themselves. They’re too busy thinking what others think unless they enjoy a healthy deconstruction like what I did in the last page.