This is my letter to the world, That never wrote to me, -- The simple news that Nature told, With tender majesty. Her message is committed To hands I cannot see; For love of her, sweet countrymen, Judge tenderly of me! - emily dickinson -

Monday, July 04, 2005

nitwit

it was somewhere between midnight and 4 am. the transnasional was moving at the typical water buffalo murdering speed. an endless stream of hindi tunes was playing loud enough to keep everyone as awake and alert as the driver. the driver was singing along and sucking in as much nicotine as his lungs could carry. the fume and smell were filling up the air-conditioned interior. the chill was pricking my bones. and this nasty old witch in a tudung was making the ride ever more miserable for me.

i could feel her shoving my seat. if it were the bus moving fast over uneven road, it would feel entirely different. but the sensation was specific. coming from behind instead of the floor. was she trying to push my seat upright? was she trying to get my attention? she could've just asked.
so, i pretended not to notice. i dozed off after a while.

then, i was awaken yet again. what was wrong with the witch? i swear if i ever did turn around and confront her, she'd be sorry she was born without the ability to lap her own behind.

when we finally reached seremban, i made sure that i was in her face while getting my stuffs from the overhead compartment. i could sense that she glared at me but i just made it like we were on board a terribly crowded economy classs public transport which in fact, was what we were on.

if you don't do economy, then for God's sake, don't act like you own the blinking economy!

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