At the bus stop.
I’m at the bus stop, warmth being remorselessly drawn from my backside by a mean metal bench. A girl approaches. She looks like she’s talking into a hands-free, she sounds like she’s yelling at someone on the other side of the street.
“I’m telling you, those chicken wings are sick, Sasha, they’re bad.”
I believe, in the parlance of lesser-aged contemporary folk, that they must be good chicken wings. Sasha doesn’t know what she’s in for. My bum grows ever colder.
October 20th, 2008 at 2:49 pm
I wish it was your fulltime job, just observing and describing. And that it was my fulltime job just reading it
October 20th, 2008 at 10:24 pm
Gosh, you’re too kind. But I wish that too…
November 5th, 2008 at 11:26 am
Excelent post and comment. I wish good luck from Private Krankenversicherung