Friday arvo, I had to bolt for the bus! And then of course, it was late.
Patiently waiting, I peruse my surrounds. A fellow commuter looks angrily up the street, waving her go card under her nose. A smoker nearby I think. And then I spy her, on a nearby bench, ciggy in hand and long plumes of the toxic grey streaming from her lips. She’s dressed warm, we all are. The streets of the city has swirls of wind whipping around our legs. I’m serepticiously eyeing the smoking woman and the wafting one. Now, I really don’t like smokers (not the actual people) just the dirty habit that stinks their breath and lingers in the lifts. I’m not in direct line of fire, but the wafting lady is. Why don’t you move I think. It’s evident the guilty party has no intention of moving. . .
And then she’s standing, bending her knees, kneeling on the footpath bowing to Mecca. No prayer mat, just the dirt and scruff of many feet. I’m not sure if this dedication or madness. Then back to the bench and a long drag sees her cheeks suck in and more of the smelly stuff expelled.
The bus has arrived, we commuters alight, the smoker stays put!
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