8th December 2000

Portraits in Stupidity, first in a series

The bus driver was a typical morning commute bus driver, stopping suddenly for no apparent reason, letting more passengers on the bus despite the laws governing volume, density, and morning coffee breath. The woman standing next to me had one arm wrapped around the pole for support. In her left hand she held a compact mirror, she was applying eyeliner with her right. The driver would slam the brakes, she’d wobble and narrowly avert skewering her eye. It made me nervous. Not because I’d mind having her out of the gene pool, but I have no idea what kind of detergent you use to get brain out of a new sweater.

3:44 p.m.

The people in my neighborhood:

  • The guy with retro “I listen to indie rock” glasses whose dachshund always wants to know if he’s just bought something edible. Last time I passed him, he was letting the dog smell a CD.
  • The old lady who lives behind me and teeters around her sun room. Watching her, I realized for the first time that old people walk slowly because every step hurts.
  • The perpetually surprised girl who tweezes and tortures her tiny eyebrows until she looks sufficiently terrified.

10:07 a.m.