flashing lights .
soundtrack: the chewing of watermelon // thoughts: lyrics of a song i can’t remember
there’s this woman at my bus stop that i see every sunday if i happen to go home early. she sits on the wooden bench and screams unintelligible words so passionately that the people sitting beside her get up to wait for their bus. but that may also be because she smells (i wouldn’t know, i never sit down). even the tired old people let her have her own bench. she never catches a bus, just sits there, sometimes yelling at her own reflection through the bottleshop window, sometimes smoking and yelling at the people around her…
the only time i’ve understood the words she screams through my earphones is when she was counting. six-hundred-and-fourty-four, six-hundred-and-fourty-five, six-hundred-and-fourty-six… by the time i got on my bus it was eight-hundred-and-twenty-three.
no one understands.
i look at her, unnerved sometimes, but i don’t shake my head and walk away like the others do. i just wonder how she got that way, and what she believes she’s saying. maybe she’s telling us the world will end in a few months, but no one will believe her because she’s just some crazy woman from the street. and while the suits and ties look down upon her ragged appearance and her evidently horrendous life, a silly school girl tries to trace the different paths between what they name as success, and what the world regards as failure.
but then the bus comes, and it’s all forgotten.