On the bus
So there I was, on the bus crosstown to the East Side for school and it is semi-crowded. I have my overstuffed duffle bag swung across my body, and my school bag hanging off my right shoulder, and I’m standing just above a fairly old woman. She has white/purply/silver hair that she more than likely curled over night having slept in curlers as she probably has every night since puberty. Her nails were a nice shade of something between burgundy and marilyn-red, and her knuckles were over sized on her tiny veiny, and age-spotty hands. She had on big Jackie-O sunglasses and what looked to be a fur coat. She held her little bag on her lap and I noticed earphones dangling from her droopy lobes. I smirked a bit. It’s always funny to see elderly people with technology like cel phones, iPads and iPods. You know that their grandchildren, or even great-grandchildren had to help them figure it out. So this grandmother type with her gold rings on that I’m sure she hasn’t removed since putting them on in the 1940’s is slightly bobbing her head back and forth, like a bobble toy slowing down. I can only assume it’s because whatever song is playing in those earphones. A few more moments went by and as my curiosity grew of what she was listening to she opened her mouth and sung quietly::
“blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol, blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol.”
No. But, really.