AN IMMORTAL RIDING A TIGER

Imagine a whole bunch of people at the bus stop. Average age seventy. The first bus whizzes by without stopping. The second does stop, but once we get on there is no room to breath. It cleared out marvelously by Jones, and at that point I noticed an elderly auntie trying to figure out where we were.

When I asked where she was getting off she said near sing mo taai haa. The 'sing mo' office building. Yeah, um, eh. Sorry, no idea where that is. Or what. I feel mentally deficient here.

I think I was out of my element.
It was cacaphonous.

"They have taken the bridge and the second hall. We cannot get out, we cannot get out.  The rest retreated to Mazarbul. We are still holding. The pool is up to the wall at Westgate, we cannot get out. The end comes soon, we hear drums in the deep. They are coming. We have barred the gates, but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes."
-----From 'Gevpo Hoch', freely translated (Klingon).


It's rare that I feel claustrophobia, but if it were to happen, it would be on a crowded Muni bus rocketing over the hill during rush hour. I engage in social ritual to retain a sense of normalcy. Auntie, there is a seat over there. No no, you sit, I'm getting off soon. Warmish, this weather, eh? And that sort of stuff. Speaking Cantonese is very useful in that regard; it establishes the relations. While, at the same time, throwing up a barrier to the Orcs heading home from their soul-crushing 'droodgery' in what's left of the financial district.

I'm afraid I'm not a very social person. People watching is often the extent of my engagement with others, easier when there is sufficient distance, and only one person is talking at me.

It takes almost zen-like concentration to ride the bus.
Exercise the mental muscles.



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