an old, whisper-thin man gets on the bus. he is wrapped in a trench coat which so completely overwhelms his wasted frame that I think, ”he is entrenched in his coat.” He sits down by a middle-aged woman, after nearly falling when the bus lurches back into transit. The lady is overweight, and her bundled sides encroach on the rightful seat-territory of the fading man. He is so far progressed in his disassembly that he only occupies a tiny slice of his seat. He begins to speak to his seat-mate in Italian. She doesn’t understand Italian, but she repeats the word ‘sí’. She keeps repeating it: 5 times, 10 times, 13 times. This translucent Italian is rambling on with typical gusto about his discontent at being unable to cleanse his bowels with the regularity of his youth.
All that I think is: I bet this man wailed on Mussolini’s hanging corpse. I’ll bet he spit on the man’s wife, her unfortunate flesh-mass swinging with the momentum of the antagonizing forces of punches coming from all sides. I see this crumbling human history when he was young, emptying his bowels without the smallest note of effort. Smearing his feces on his fallen dictator and being looked upon by admiring young women in black and white.
In his animated relating of geriatric jeremiad, the pencil-stached (former) defecator hits the Haltewunsch button. The bus jumps violently with the ensuing down-shift, and the doors open. No one exits. I stand up and walk down onto the sidewalk to spare the flamboyant storyteller a stern word from our notoriously explosive bus driver, and walk an extra 15 minutes home.
-
goethenayburs said:
this is so good that I would like to remove lenin’s body from its tomb, put it on my bed and have dirty dirty sex on top of him with you ;)
-
holdheadshigh liked this
-
gokiburi posted this
