On the buses.

Today has been a day of buses. Lots. And journeys that shouldn’t have taken long but did.And a bus that broke down. So I watch the people. A man who tells me he is a retired confectioner, dresses in a full length camel coat, Oxfords and a cravat.He says he’s been to see his Councillor about the buses to complain, I don’t know about what. I sit next to an elderly woman who refuses to look at me, pretends I am not there. Her hands are age spotted and transparent. Her bottom lip juts out, her pearl earrings jostle . There’s a woman with coral pink lips. She phones someone to tell them the bus has broken down. She says ‘Don’t laugh, its not funny’.She plugs in her headphones and sings along to her songs silently, her head swaying with every intonation, her face relaying the emotion.She gazes out of the window. The bus empties, but I stay sitting next to the elderly woman, partly to annoy her. ‘What a prick’, growls a man behind. A woman says on the phone ‘ So have you been to the Doctors yet ? Aye, well I told you to soak them in salt water…..’ Tired people, want to get home people. Man gets on wearing a cowboy hat and moustache. The smell of beer wafts along the aisle and he gets into conversation with someone about Roland Garros, the French Open tennis venue telling him just how special it is. His words are as fluid as his gesticulations. He stands and asks if we all like fish. I ring the bell. My stop.

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