If you looked at her face you would think, clean but unfortunate victim of greasy skin and cheek bones too prominent for such a small head. The gentleman looking at her chest might think ah there is a redeeming quality. But looking at her seat, where she had plunked down her massive rear, you would think ah it makes sense that she peeled off her eyebrows in an effort to better frame her eyes and wears such a fashionable suit. Stubby little stubby feet, too. A strange physique that seemed like it had been squeezed out from a platic tube. Like icing. Sometimes the icing came out in smooth, even, thin elegant lines and at other times it came out in chunks and then dribbles.
She had been sweating and now the grease coated her strained features despite the air conditioning.
As we took a turn around a circle, she began to fidget and suddenly it came out.
"I can´t stand this, I hate this, I don´t understand. You have so much patience," she told the bus driver. "I could never drive a bus. I´d just want to shout…it´s not that difficult people: just follow the circle." She squirted a nervous little laugh.
"There shouldn´t even be a 42 bus because this line has too many stops. A person can walk 2 blocks to catch the bus. There should just be the 43. When it goes under the bridge. When I take the 43 on this road, it takes 6 minutes to get from apatment in Mount Pleasant to K street. When I take the 42 it takes 20."
Someone mumbled she needed to stop complaining because on a rainy Friday afternoon when everyone is trying to find a bar to fill up and then a bed or someone to pass out on and it began to stink horribly in the bus because the wet floors had been trod on by too many tired feet, no one wanted to hear another person complain about the very same problem the y were having. Everyone wanted to move faster but the best we could do at that moment was enter that warm womb of denial and wait until it was our time to come out.
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