Olivia Walters, These Hidden Streets
Look at me, impatiently waiting at the bus stop, one hand over my eyes, the other waving for the driver’s attention to take me home. Look at me, mounting the bus, scanning my pass, then doing the once-around to decide where I’ll sit. What an absolute joy it is to finally be out of the office!
Share my pleasure, fellow passengers! The dank perfume of a hundred boys and girls freshly released from the hands of their educators! ‘O ye of little faith! Nothing quite singes the nostrils like a pubescent musk trapped in the confines of a moving vehicle!
And my neighbor, do not fear! Though they dismount after each stop, another high school is up the street, where ten more promptly wait to add their fruitful waft to the mix! You may be tempted to cover your nostrils, but have you no shame, my friend? I tell you, it’s better to hold your nose for the 25 minute ride!
Can we hate them, those young souls who shamefully keep their heads down? Is their spirit guided by a malicious demon who beckons their glands; who whispers, suffocate thy neighbor, he has wronged you? I beg you, neighbor, keep your composure! Tomorrow is but another day!