Things I'm Aggravated About Today

The Clark 22 bus. An angular man squeezes between a woman and me. The bus is stuffed to the windows with rush hour commuters. On his lap, a medium Little Ceasar's Pizza box. He opens the lid, crams a piece into his mouth and shuts the lid. Opens the lid, crams a piece into his mouth and shuts the lid. Opens the lid, crams a piece into his mouth and shuts the lid. He is aiming his limbs at us, jutting out and pinning into us. Knee into her knee. Shoulder into my shoulder. Elbows into my elbow.

Creep.

The word won't cease. Tickering before me in pumping splashes of yellow.

Creep.

Creep.

Creep.

The familiarity of his face has my brain zipping. City blocks crawl toward us too slowly. A million people cram off and on. Off and on. He continues chewing, cheeks bulging ready to explode. And digging into us. Probably getting a feel. She is pretending to be asleep. Oblivious. I am getting pissed at this perverted scoundrel.

Creep!

And his greasy hand is getting too close to me. And I want to smash the pizza box against the rear doors.

Berwyn. Shit, get off the god-damned bus. Stupid god-damned bus.