Terminal Terminal  

rm_Greyeyesky 41M
116 posts
1/30/2006 12:09 pm

Last Read:
3/5/2006 9:27 pm

Terminal Terminal


It's not that I mind walking so much, but eighty-seven miles is quite a ways, and I had to be to work in twelve hours. It's not that I mind having to ask for help when I need it, but it was a holiday and my friends do have families. I considered hitch hiking, but the temperatures were dropping below freezing, and I had no desire to stand on the side of the road in such weather.

And so I opted to ride the bus. A quick look in my wallet showed that this would be feasible, and not too damaging to my finances. I caught a ride to the station, and waited. My bus would not come for another two and a half hours.

At first the station was tranquil with the inactivity of the predawn morning. I looked at pamphelets advertising local attractions, which I can say, are not all that attractive. I marveled at the televisions that would not come on unless fed quarters. What is with our society when we can not sit for longer than an hour without having to stare at the idiot box? I laughed at the outrageous prices of the station convenience store, but what price would we not pay for convenience?

At long last, people did arrive, and with them came the ruckus that usually comes with migrating species. The televisions came on, the cellphone conversations began, and racial tension ensued. There were children hudled in corners, and lovers arguing as quietly as two people can argue.

A black man faught with a white man.
A latino woman offered a white man her last piece of bread.

Are we all so different? We all pay high prices for poor conditions and secretly wish that everyone could see us for who we are, for the greatness we hide inside.

We all long for the sour milk our mothers have stashed away in their purses, we all desire understanding from our mates. We all desire respect from within and without our peer groups.

We all get on the bus and go places we wish didn't exist, we all get off the bus glad to be home.

rm_art_persists 51M
1789 posts
1/30/2006 8:31 pm

we all get off that bus to go home and hide. Anaesthetized and complacent... This blog is just a symptom.


rm_Greyeyesky 41M

1/31/2006 12:15 pm

Perhaps, but by home I do not necessarily mean the accepted standard domocile. Home is where the heart is, and for some people... the next bus stop is home. I don'tbelieve we can live in a sterile world. We can only choose to stick our heards in the sand, or not.


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