WHERE ARE THE CRACKERS?

It's actually quite peaceful early in the morning. Streets are empty except for a few apathetic souls walking their anine poo factories or the occasional "I'm gonna live forever" joggers, some birds, the rare skulking raccoon. Coffee tastes better. Turkey vulture isn't awake. Almost no crazy people or tourists, so it's also far safer out there.

During the afternoon both crazy people and tourists are wide awake. Ambulant hazards one must side-step. Earthmothers too. Colourful garb that expresses their innermost being as well as their belligerent attitude.


I'll confess that I am not particularly fond of people. They are unformed till their mid-twenties, most of them, and start developing mold too few years after that, resembling psychological Limburger cheese.

Between seven thirty and nine o'clock the buses are filled with sardines.
Somnolescent. Resentful. And holding devices.
Move slightly, dillwad.


And if you could, stop breathing.
Is that too much to ask?

When I still worked downtown I would be on that bus. In those days I hated that bus line. Now that I only take it on days off I rather like it. After the office workers have been dealt with it's mostly elderly Cantonese heading into C'town for snackies, grocery shopping, and medical appointments, till about four in the afternoon. Plus the occasional loony.

It seems sunnier and brighter without the drones.

Not so many humans, but more human.



We're almost there, we're almost there, we're almost there, we're almost there, we're almost there, we're almost there, we're almost there, we're almost there, we're almost there, we're almost there, we're almost there, we're almost there, we're almost there, almost there.



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