Standing at the bus stop is an experience i will always keep close to my heart. Although that might sound like an odd sentence to come out with, i really mean it.
When you have nothing to do but go wait for the bus 20mins early you can stop and take in whats happening around you.
My first observation was a chap aged around 45 or 50. He had greased back hair, an unkept goatee,a worn old leather jacket with a sheeps wool lining, black fingerless gloves and brilliant black lace shoes.
I then spotted he had his gyro bumpf poking out the top of his jacket pocket which threw me a bit.
I mean i dont know his situation but i presume he has just had a bad hand given to him in every aspect of life.
But it just made me think that the way i see the older generation is really deluded.
I dont know.
After i was finished observing that man an eldery lady fell prey to my thoughts. Not to the same extent, but still enough to make me want to write about her.
She was a well kept woman whom i imagined living in a nice detatched somewhere peaceful like conan bridge.
Marks and sparks bag full of the usual epic goodies you would get if you went there.
This not only added to my hurt for the other chap but gave me hope of how i plan my elderly life to be.
She then growled out a foul cough and had to spit into a tissue after stubbing out the last of her malbro gold.
To finish my stint at the bus stop i turned around to see that it was next to a bookies.
Nothing beats the smell of stale alcohol and broken hopes and dreams at 10am.
Happy 18th tasha :)
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