Blue Chest

When you can feel yourself descending into the chest ripping bloodiness of bronchitis territory, so you leave the house with your kill eyes on.

But because you don’t drive (as you’ve managed to adequately avoid the physicality of adulthood in a small city, you see) you have to get the bus. Often, on most days, this doesn’t bother you whatsoever but today you haven’t the energy to walk 30 mins to the bus stop that takes you to the medical centre. So you catch a bus in the opposite direction that will enable you to alight semi near another bus that takes you in the right direction to your destination.

There you find yourself arriving.. After subduing the violent urge to punch an inconsiderate man-bitch in the back of the head for pushing past you aggressively to exit the vehicle first.. and you wonder for a second what happened to chivalry… wonder for a second before forgetting about it again. And again. And aga…

Then there in the sterile station – lodged underground in the ancient earth – you manoeuvre your fleshy confine atop the greyness through to the escalators.. but the UP escalator is broken and closed off. Oh god the agony! So you stand at the bottom of the staircase looking up with the eyes of an injured soldier about ready to just give up forever. Instead however, you slowly assemble the courage, bravery and energy it takes to get started on the taxing journey upward and out of the complex.

Left foot; heave. Right foot; heave. Repeat.

You exchange smiles with a Muslim family that move downward past you; very nice. You feel warm inside for a moment. Then you realize that there are people moving upward past you at a rapid pace. They are on the UP escalator! Motherfuckers! It was the fucking DOWN escalator that didn’t work! Fml.

You stagger out of the station past the pungent fumes of heavy duty adhesive and spray paint on the construction site.

You swim through the intersection, miraculously missing traffic.

The smell of freshly ground coffee beans smacks you in the face just as you see an old man up ahead with a paper cup at his feet, surrounded by a bucketload of little brown/black objects on the dirty ground. Coffee smell?

As you get closer, you realise they are pitted dates. And you think for second about making a joke “couldn’t find a good enough date eh?” wink wink nudge nudge. But you resolve against publicly releasing ‘the idiot’ today and instead; think about how maybe.. if you could find just one date.. maybe you wouldn’t have even gotten a chest infection in the first place. Hahaha!! (lel not lel). You chuckle to yourself and keep careering across the asphalt.
On the way to the other bus stop you see 3 people that you totally love but you completely avoid them cos you don’t wanna accidentally kill them while you have your kill eyes on.

Bla bla bla other things happen on other banal but riveting journies. You write them down while waiting forever.. but patiently.. in a busy waiting room.. in between being distracted by super cute asian babies.. and terrifying toothless crack heads.. that can’t be any older than 22.. but look like maybe they could also be 45 and wrekt af… Or just actually the living dead.

Zoom into the super cute Indian baby making fart sounds and sucking on his mother’s pink iphone case.

Holy moley! There you find yourself taken aback, as instead, you catch his mother gazing into the distance with the stern look of a warrior’s stance and strong undertones of deep sass. Ooft. Kweenz!

Just as you write that, someone starts playing Queen’s “don’t stop me now” through their phone speakers and you’re reminded that the universe has a backbone of intricate clockwork.

Laugh. Cough. Cringe. Repeat.

No smoking.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

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

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com 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 )

w

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: