Bus stop banter

In the City of Roses, singles' eyes meet each other's by chance. At bus stops, on streets, in stores. I think, here more than anywhere I've ever lived, there is more of a desire not to be alone. I'm still unsure why that is, and right now I'm like Wilco: It's good to be alone, but here you can see it in others, they do not. They are reading on buses, in coffee shops, at home, where you can't see them but can understand them, and they're alone and don't want to be. The problem is most of the refugees here, the fugitives, the self-absorbed, the sweetly artistic, yet somewhat darkened beings seriously find a richness in not finding another person. The joy of being alone for them is getting along with the one person that they want to share with another. And that's when the throat gets sore. Around us there is so much to take in: it's tasty but it's also poisonous. Fill you mouth and follow through with a gulp. Send it all down to where it will set in the stomach, in the cells, in the soul. Shared with others, these bodies of myth can take on a new form. Dangerous to a degree is what keeps most from allowing the possibility to exist.

The roses are gone. It's getting cold(er) out. Find a warm cup and fill up with something that makes you feel good inside.

1 comment :

The Administrator said...

You still out of a car?