I got on and was overcome by a sense of you. It made me drop some of my change. The driver grew tempered as I scrounged the perforated ground for impossible dimes. I stood and looked to the back. You weren't there. Maybe I had just missed you. I know that feeling like my right hand pinky knows the home key and the delete key as well.
"Well good," I thought. I looked like hell and felt worse. There's no hiding on the Deuce Deuce - or from deadlines and unforgiving sunshine. And no amount of makeup will cover my ass after three whiskey sours, two cups of coffee, two term papers and two hours of sleep.
My headphones on, three songs in to Electrelane's Powers Out and nearly asleep - there you are - boarding and walking down the aisle.
Of course, of course I would see you today, with my hollowed out eyes like a deranged zeppelin, after all this time.
But, at least I can still rely on my instinct. I knew you were on this bus. I smelled your intentions before I could smell you.
And you do. You sit next to me and you smell so nice.
I think about opening the window and jumping out. I'm so tired it would be a pathetic attempt, resembling falling off of a bed more than fleeing.
I think about opening your mouth and crawling inside of you.
Small talk is mean.
I'm playing polite with the one person I can still feel rustle on the horizon. We used to talk about children's names, now it's the weather. What an insult.
But, it was humbling to see your inescapable face - I'm responsible for my regrets, holding them close like my passport in Mexico.
It's your stop. And you rise to exit, and say, "Good-bye," in a way that sounds nothing like, "See you later."
-photo compliments of A modern girl, Tina, from San Francisco
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