Empty. Two reds just left me...w a i t.
Expectedly, my interior world crumbles, only for a bit. Arrival one.
A reminder to me. That it's morning. That I shouldn't be spending this silent time with her. Too late, but great. Results. Arrival two.
Now I don't mind her too much. Then I see!! It's him! The DEEEEE SEV superstar. Seven(ish) a.m. smile. the driver of all drivers. Enthusiastically behind his wheel, he leans down with wide eyes as I beep. Body language to gain notice. Him, always in front. Of us. Friendly at no cost of his own-enlightening my morning-reminding me to lift. Plopped in the back, almost all flexibility lost, I try to sneak a pic of my friend. Why not? Is he my friend to call? 
Sick of stealth and self crumble momentarily repaired- Before I exit I say... video diary.. blah blah.. he says, "Sure." BIG GRIN-abolish reflection, and sNaP! (actually, it wasn't a snap at all... more like a tiny mechanical noise and faint finger tap). My grin might have been bigger than his.
Outside, a grand happy cackle lady greets me screaming.. "Souveniiiiiiiiiir!!!??" Her hair is like burnt curly fries. I was tempted to eat one. I usually burn things anyway. No discretion for an early fry. "Not quite... just my favorite driver", I shouted back as I walked/hopped to morph into a pigeon again- I had to make the light.I stop for sighting.- A fall fave. Formidable spot upon black.
Pressed in pavement. Almost a fossil, with exaggeration. Goodness, I realize... I have nO time. I'd nEver make it if I played like this. Focus Jessica. Focus. gO. gO. A right swoop hook, a left, and a right. I think, hmm.. the newspaper vendor hasn't been around this week with his 17 foot paper piled table. I hope he is okay. He is plump and red. Has a candy apple nose and a chimney that bellows.To the underground... Moving this fast through the turnstiles, I have reconfirmed myself in "go mode."
And, crap. NOt my destination. Then-The familiar and unappreciated announcement.. WaWaWaWaWah... District Line delays... nOoOoOOOOo. Why me?!!!!
Crumbling again. Waiting.
With them and more and more.
Three Barking dogs later-mine. And what do you know? Again-my semi opp is 19 distressed in flesh, sour face dill. Oh .. I wish I could get a pic. Different flats. Grayish like a typical London sky. Wrapped with a toe bow. She's like, tOtally unamused. Iphone gripped as a weapon. A weapon of stature.
It's sunny today, like my winter vest. Yellow and blue. slippery slopes. I'm sandwiched.
Rapid gum chewer, brown leather on right. Olfactory glands picking up on it. New jacket. Jeans, two tiny scratches with scabs on right wrist visible. Arms crossed. Clean shaven. Blue eyes with red road maps. A gambler.
Left. Metro reader...no, wait... a gazer. and an under cover nose digger. White-capped. Matching white cords leading to his ears. Marketing at it's greatest. Jeans low, sacrum sitting. A sideways mouth with prickles.
Not only a them sandwich.
Layers to laugh at I wear. Anticipation of a a day outside, I am hugely immobile. Couldn't reach in my pocket if I wanted to. I can smell my egg white on rye. Ohh... would it be rude to eat it now? The scent steaming-traveling... will people float like that brown fuzzy to an apple pie? Does anybody actually put them in the window to cool anymore? Wait, does anybody actually make them anymore?
Back to the point.. as if people could and would float to my highly coveted eggy smell, it is doubtful that they would. After all it's early in the morning and there could be an energy shortage amongst the crowd. Most likely, the paper towel has bonded itself to the top of the warm egg. Classy. Anyone for a bite?
I want to walk alone. Ride alone. Mornings. Is that a crime? Ditched, not so much, cos at the end of the car... inescapable now. Upon exit, reunion. I'm running out of time for egg white on rye. I'm running out of time completely. I eaves drop. A lovely Irish girl's accent-no, two. A confident talk and make-up app. Oh F, it's time for the E.W.O.R. I'm hungry. they eat chicken on the train...OH, gross... and I'm eating the egg... Let's not get into that. Ew, I just kind of lost my appetite. Sadly- adding to my inner struggle, a bit of the yolk slipped in the pan too...
Same yellow.Sky. Inside my vest... Preparation, 19 articles. Thick tights. Thigh-high sky blue socks with stripes. Wide short jeans. Black skin tight (tank) trapping heat in. Thermal (with stencil sent all of the way from her-a mother, I respect) deep gray-they say, charcoal. Long sleeve lycra. Another black tank-not the army kind. S/S tee, that the green the army hAs claimed.-Polka dots on top in lines. Wrist warmers, I'll call them.-Colorful. Wild. Stretchy. A Bonnaroo memory. Oh that time... The WOOHOO man. Tennessee. Tents. Trips taken across the roads. Former. Leg warmers-Arms only now, also charcoal. The short black paws again. Forgotten, ratty warms along my shins, also army owned. Gray hoodie-inner softness preserved, you know how. Thin green ultra zippity zips, sprayed faint, jacket. Ski vest. The yellow and blue aforementioned. Brim, corduroy. Thick, like a conductor's. A dense one around the neck like night, coiled to cover. Boots that used to shine. Deeply loved. Tater tots, steel enclosed, square and scuffed. Do not microwave.
Gus, bus-Discuss much? Oh, how I'm showered with good fortune today, more travel. School trips. DELUXE motor coach. Mr. Sepke used to say that.
Three Barking dogs later-mine. And what do you know? Again-my semi opp is 19 distressed in flesh, sour face dill. Oh .. I wish I could get a pic. Different flats. Grayish like a typical London sky. Wrapped with a toe bow. She's like, tOtally unamused. Iphone gripped as a weapon. A weapon of stature.
It's sunny today, like my winter vest. Yellow and blue. slippery slopes. I'm sandwiched.
Rapid gum chewer, brown leather on right. Olfactory glands picking up on it. New jacket. Jeans, two tiny scratches with scabs on right wrist visible. Arms crossed. Clean shaven. Blue eyes with red road maps. A gambler.
Left. Metro reader...no, wait... a gazer. and an under cover nose digger. White-capped. Matching white cords leading to his ears. Marketing at it's greatest. Jeans low, sacrum sitting. A sideways mouth with prickles.
Not only a them sandwich.
Layers to laugh at I wear. Anticipation of a a day outside, I am hugely immobile. Couldn't reach in my pocket if I wanted to. I can smell my egg white on rye. Ohh... would it be rude to eat it now? The scent steaming-traveling... will people float like that brown fuzzy to an apple pie? Does anybody actually put them in the window to cool anymore? Wait, does anybody actually make them anymore?
Back to the point.. as if people could and would float to my highly coveted eggy smell, it is doubtful that they would. After all it's early in the morning and there could be an energy shortage amongst the crowd. Most likely, the paper towel has bonded itself to the top of the warm egg. Classy. Anyone for a bite?
I want to walk alone. Ride alone. Mornings. Is that a crime? Ditched, not so much, cos at the end of the car... inescapable now. Upon exit, reunion. I'm running out of time for egg white on rye. I'm running out of time completely. I eaves drop. A lovely Irish girl's accent-no, two. A confident talk and make-up app. Oh F, it's time for the E.W.O.R. I'm hungry. they eat chicken on the train...OH, gross... and I'm eating the egg... Let's not get into that. Ew, I just kind of lost my appetite. Sadly- adding to my inner struggle, a bit of the yolk slipped in the pan too...
Same yellow.Sky. Inside my vest... Preparation, 19 articles. Thick tights. Thigh-high sky blue socks with stripes. Wide short jeans. Black skin tight (tank) trapping heat in. Thermal (with stencil sent all of the way from her-a mother, I respect) deep gray-they say, charcoal. Long sleeve lycra. Another black tank-not the army kind. S/S tee, that the green the army hAs claimed.-Polka dots on top in lines. Wrist warmers, I'll call them.-Colorful. Wild. Stretchy. A Bonnaroo memory. Oh that time... The WOOHOO man. Tennessee. Tents. Trips taken across the roads. Former. Leg warmers-Arms only now, also charcoal. The short black paws again. Forgotten, ratty warms along my shins, also army owned. Gray hoodie-inner softness preserved, you know how. Thin green ultra zippity zips, sprayed faint, jacket. Ski vest. The yellow and blue aforementioned. Brim, corduroy. Thick, like a conductor's. A dense one around the neck like night, coiled to cover. Boots that used to shine. Deeply loved. Tater tots, steel enclosed, square and scuffed. Do not microwave.
Gus, bus-Discuss much? Oh, how I'm showered with good fortune today, more travel. School trips. DELUXE motor coach. Mr. Sepke used to say that.
Whispers of fancies. Screams of potential sea, no, road sickness. Beautiful bridge with long stronger than simple strings. River. Oh, truck speed. Whited out my view. Reflection produces. Cerebrum eyes.
Scavengers almighty. Adventure book. Colors bright. Sun flashes like a strobe light through the trees. On the move. Club 12 and under. Destination. 800+ years old. Stone and moan-several on the throne. Who? Ha, hmmmm...
Kid patrol on common grounds. Loose and leashed. Wheels round-we roll... and I rock to talk. Boot legs on tiny screen scream. UP (I go), This Is It.
Hours in between.
Two-by-two banter. Spain, commonality. Darkness, the same. With a name-that flies. He pointed to a plane. Satirical. More than surface skimming and paint thinning-thought required. Desired. Decisions in a blue book sent eyes astray.
Younger than my boots, sat with content. Coins spent. On Claw. Prize won. Prize sold. 10p. Buyer pleased. Passenger perplexed.
Done. I walk the straight. Westward, I won. A smooth sail. On. Empty across. 
Pleased. Places to go and peace precious. My voyage continues with muddy tracks.Off. Lacking patience. Prior peace released-rain. By foot. FULL hands. Free shoe wash, great. Much needed. Wait. 388. On. Off. Trot. Wait. Huddle under-overflowing. Wait. Wait. Highlighted. Head-lighted. Drops grow.-glow. Like gumdrops landing-scattered. I imagined the matching artificial noise. Like the start of Bambi-beep bop, beep bop... not quite in that order. If only I could gather, chew, blow bubble big enough to float away aNd withstand the wind.. Anyhow... More than ridiculous wait.
Unbearable. Growl. Wait. wAit. WaIt. Weight. Shoulders pressed. Distress. Wait. Estimate-over 20.
Finally. A little Red. Riding. In my hood, gumdrops. Through the door, wolves race. Capacity. Doors won't close. People won't move. Singles take up doubles. Pigs and wolves. Fog. Steam. Unison lean. Windows smothered. Slug speed. Usual 20 max, 45 plus this eve. Shallow breaths. No photo op. No hand to spare-no care. This time, wAs mine.
Left side. Along side.Finger graffiti smiley. Pfft. As if. Not interested. Girl aside stuffed from nose up. That sound of inner drown. Nostrils, out of order. Coughs withOut covers. Inches near. OCD soon, and media instilled fear.
ThEn... in my ear... Button erroneously pushed in king's quarters..
Recording played: "There is room available on the upper deck." Eyes closed to calm, I laugh aloud and open. Two others join me. In awe.
Imagination extends. What upper deck? Should some of us move to the roof?
And again I lift. Just for a moment.
the addition of photos was an unexpected and interesting addition
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