Turbulent streams of bodies. Flowing, stopping, watching, bumping. Bleary eyes and painted faces. Women dripping with sex, squeezed into dresses, bursting out of dresses like flowers blooming. Money clicking, sliding, dropping into deep pockets. Shallow pockets. Every room buzzing like a beehive. Full of bees suckling at sin like newborn babes. Hungry, growling, clawing, wanting to feel anything, anything but the white noise that awaits them behind closed doors.
The bus was full of energy today. Full of crazies. A man, dirty, muttering to himself in Spanish, something about good people and being a good person. Gesturing at another man that was sitting, trying to ignore, trying not to look into his eyes or even acknowledge that he is a human on the same bus, occupying the same space, breathing the same air. People leave, more people get on. Everyone seems to be buzzing. I say something funny to two girls next to me. They laugh. An old man gets on the bus. Two other old men, sitting across from me, seem to know him. They say hi, and he stands in front of them, wobbles in front of them, speaking in slurred speech. They seemed surprised he was drunk. The old man sat down heavily next to me, leaving his backpack on to crunch against the seat. The old man had hair like vines coming out his ear. Like if he really let them grow they would swallow him whole. It was my stop. I leapt off the bus and walked as it roared on by.