Pole Dancing
The air is hot and sticky. My hands slide along the hot metal, well lubricated with the sweat of others who have come before me. To my right a man mumbles to himself, he grins showing yellowed teeth and I look away. Someone pushes against me and I feel pressure on my lower spine. A cough, then silence.
My grip slips again and I grasp the pole tighter, but others are pushing against me, jamming themselves into the empty spaces.
This bus isn’t big enough for all of us.
An old lady pushes past, elbows me out of the way and takes my spot on the pole. I am left afdrift, my balance shifts as the demon driver swerves and behind me someone leans, I fall against another. Like dominoes we tumble.
‘Watch the old lady’ shouts a voice from the crowd, an older woman, ugly as sin but seated comfortably.
‘I did,’ I think darkly ‘And the bitch stole my pole.’
Old HairyChops glares at me and I worry for a moment that she’s reading my mind. I think about her going home to a houseful of cats and smile broadly at her. Teeth bared.
Survival of the fittest.
Eventually I get a seat, I have to crawl and claw my way over bags and packages but when I get there it’s mine. Unfortunately it’s also across from Loves’ Young Dream, if Loves Young Dream was an undead version of Sondra Bernhardt and some sort of half man-half tribble hybrid.
Dark tufts of hair sprout from his back and chest making an Alice band from the collar of his t-shirt. A hirsute tide mark under his chin shows the limit of his shaving. They leave, thankfully and are replaced by a young man. His sits knees splayed out and I feel vaguely sorry for him. It must be hard living with Elephantitis of the balls. But it appears to be an affliction suffered by many young men in the city.
I stand again, and struggle back down to the doors of the bus. The driver is running late, trying to make up time, as I alight I wish him luck. All that lies ahead is badlands.
you had me at “hot metal, well lubricated”
Comment by ronan — April 13, 2006 @ 12:04 pm
One way to get space on the bus/subway/lightrail is to cross your arms across your chest in water park style, then close your eyes and shout “Wheeeee!” as you allow yourself to be tossed into bodies. And if they don’t move, you still get the joy of bouncing around in a human throng — if someone whispers badly pronounced Greek in your ear, you are going through my fraternity initiation ceremony.
Comment by Chris — April 13, 2006 @ 2:55 pm