Three stops to redland bay. You tense your arm holding the pole every time you think the bus driver is going to do something dramatic, but you still sway like a drunk on a merry go round.
At 8am the IQ on a bus probably sums to 20. Take the same people with a tactical injection of coffee and a chance to read their email and they could run the country. People aren't 9 to 5 creatures. If we were, we wouldn't spend the morning in a daze, the hours up to lunch working furiously, and then the afternoon in a diabetic stupor.
Eating takes time. Even digestion.
A young business woman passes by on the street. Eyes copied from Marie Claire, hair blowdried, large hand bag, white runners for the walk, heels are probably in the bag. My friends I meet in the pub probably become these impersonal newspaper cut outs of professionalism when I don't see them. Walk down the road, head held high, bathing in the glory of their own self image reflected in the determined, forlorn, expressionless faces that wash past.
Everything takes time. Especially appearance.
The art corner is where you want to be. It makes you forget that you don't have cufflinks and polished shoes. It's full of men in cardigans and think framed glasses with fake laughs and pointless opinions. It's hard not to feel cosy there, surrounded by culture. It has a longevity that makes it feel homely. It lives beyond it's creator. He might have been an asshole, but his paintings were pretty. Judge him on them and he was a great man. Imagine being loved by people you don't know.
The Queen visited and there are children rising out of the crowd, climbing trees and monuments. I hear she's very charming, but I've never met her or heard a quote or a speech from her. I'd say she's great at crosswords. I wonder if she ever put on music and danced in her room while no one was watching or if she's ever tripped and looked around quickly to see if anyone's noticed. Usain Bolt ate Chicken McNuggets and watched tv the morning he set the world record for a 100m sprint.
We're all just people.
At 8am the IQ on a bus probably sums to 20. Take the same people with a tactical injection of coffee and a chance to read their email and they could run the country. People aren't 9 to 5 creatures. If we were, we wouldn't spend the morning in a daze, the hours up to lunch working furiously, and then the afternoon in a diabetic stupor.
Eating takes time. Even digestion.
A young business woman passes by on the street. Eyes copied from Marie Claire, hair blowdried, large hand bag, white runners for the walk, heels are probably in the bag. My friends I meet in the pub probably become these impersonal newspaper cut outs of professionalism when I don't see them. Walk down the road, head held high, bathing in the glory of their own self image reflected in the determined, forlorn, expressionless faces that wash past.
Everything takes time. Especially appearance.
The art corner is where you want to be. It makes you forget that you don't have cufflinks and polished shoes. It's full of men in cardigans and think framed glasses with fake laughs and pointless opinions. It's hard not to feel cosy there, surrounded by culture. It has a longevity that makes it feel homely. It lives beyond it's creator. He might have been an asshole, but his paintings were pretty. Judge him on them and he was a great man. Imagine being loved by people you don't know.
The Queen visited and there are children rising out of the crowd, climbing trees and monuments. I hear she's very charming, but I've never met her or heard a quote or a speech from her. I'd say she's great at crosswords. I wonder if she ever put on music and danced in her room while no one was watching or if she's ever tripped and looked around quickly to see if anyone's noticed. Usain Bolt ate Chicken McNuggets and watched tv the morning he set the world record for a 100m sprint.
We're all just people.
