Bus

Crap. That is the only word that I can think of, which is more than a little frustrating. I would have liked something a bit more interesting, perhaps something deep and philosophical. I’d have settled for anything intelligent. The human brain is an ultra-complex neural network that is capable of amazing things and all mine can do is conjure up one lousy word. It isn’t even a curse, which I think would have added a bit of colour to the occasion at the very least.
I should have gotten my hair cut, too. No sense in looking like a bum, although I have been told on several occasions that my choice of hats is very bum-like. But I am not wearing a hat right now so the problem still lies with the hair. It’s too feminine when it’s long and too juvenile when it’s short. Right now it is the former, which is another disappointing circumstance. I definitely should have gotten a haircut. Probably a mohawk. They would say I was embracing the chaotic meaningless of life with a haircut like that. I think I would like that. Instead I look like an androgynous ode to late 70s David Bowie. Wonderful.
Despite the hair and lack of vocabulary, I am wearing my favorite white sneakers and a cool, white button up t-shirt that I think goes very well with my dark wash blue jeans and white belt. It is odd though that I am wearing blue jeans--I usually deplore denim. I only have one pair and they seldom see any use, but today I was feeling the need for blue pants to match the blue stripes of my button up. I am still not sure why I chose to wear so much white, I don’t think it works well with my brown eyes. Besides, I am more of an earth tones guy. But for whatever reason --maybe it was fate, maybe it was destiny, maybe it was the way my body processed the chemicals in my dinner last night-- I was wearing a lot of white. And blue jeans. The white sneakers interested me the most, however, as I had recently bought them and they were my first pair of white shoes. I am still not sure how I feel about them; I can’t put my finger on it but there is some feeling deep in my gut that is uncomfortable with white shoes. I thought about wearing my red stocking cap, but the thought of walking around wearing nothing but red, white, and blue made me feel sickly patriotic.
I wonder what my chalk outline will look like. Or do they not do that anymore? Hopefully they do and hopefully mine comes out nicely. Wait, I have had white shoes before. I bought a pair a couple of years ago, the day after I first slept with my college girlfriend. That night was something else. I remember we watched “Where the Buffalo Roam” and I wanted a pair of white Converse sneakers like Bill Murray wore so I stopped at some store in some ghetto mall on the way back to me parents’ place. They didn’t have the low tops like I wanted, so I had to settle for the high tops. I don’t think I wore them more then three times, which is ironic because we had sex three times that night. Actually I’m not sure if that is ironic, but it seems like it could be. Irony is a tricky mistress to be sure.
Anyway, for whatever reason, the theme from “Top Gun” is pounding in my head as the bus jerks up violently and comes down twice as hard. The song reaches it final, climatic arpeggio just as my seat falls through the floor and deposits me directly in the path of the dual back tires of the bus. Crap.