At night, when I'm riding the bus home from Capitol Hill, I find that my scamper from 10th to my street approaches a gallop--the closest I ever get to running unless the ice cream man is getting away with the last screwball. This is because my route takes me under the interstate, right past what is going to be a park but is currently mud quilted with Honey Buckets and homeless guys. I wouldn't look threatening if I was carrying three handguns and a Marine, so I do what any smart diminutive single girl would do: I scuttle and hope for the best.
Along with covering David Bowie, the cool thing in bands seems to be switching instruments. This is just something I've noticed recently, where the guitar player will go to the drums and the bass player will pick up the maracas...and then a song later, they switch again. I don't know what's going on there.
Hurrying towards the bus in the rain tonight, I was stopped by a bald man with an English accent and a suitcase on wheels. He asked if I happened to smoke and I said no, and a little while later I realized that I hadn't seen him come from anywhere or go anywhere. I'm not at all positive he actually existed.
No comments:
Post a Comment