recently tried to catch the bus in the morning to go to work. There is something to do too often, take the bus, going to work I take it religiously held Monday through Friday and sometimes on some Saturdays and holy days, but the bus is a new thing. Sometimes I can afford to take the seven-room, but get there early if I am compelled to be as a nail in the stop at quarter to seven and, really, a half hour in bed, under these conditions, note an outrage. Especially since the bus turnout quarter to seven strangers are a collection of zombies covered in the darkness of a huge public transport vehicle intet roundabout head between curve and the dream that we have stolen the alarm sounds bitter, and of the seven crew of fifteen is to begin more abundant and, along with their social habits, more friendly, interesting and, of course, is much more awake. Traveling by bus is not all bad. Read more, lately work trips are the best times of the day, moments of reflection in which a set of words on my hands is the best answer and the best of rewards.
occasionally hear unwittingly snatches of a conversation, usually prompted by people under sixteen years old acquaintances on the verge of retirement. One speak of songs or television, other topical issues as the rate of unemployment or driving badly the bus driver, must see, that before he did that bad, you seem asleep.
Among all this fauna includes two bodies indistinguishable, two drops of water views next to each other are totally different but, alone, can not be more than equal. Two university. I am not referring to two students, but two workers at the university. I guess university professors. In short, two investigators. Either long or short hair, round metal glasses, dressed in gray or earthy and always, always, holding, like me, a book in his hands. A book that changed his shirt, a book that is usually out of pocket and have the faded pages and yellow. A book that goes away in layers of blue coats, white Palestinian sometimes Burberry plaid scarf. I guess to them I'm a weirdo. Although Count One of the stamps of identity do not get off at their stop, although I have not a shoulder bag, but I do not see it does not wear glasses. Sometimes I think I sift through those magnifying glasses until I look, always sitting in front of me, and one pair of seats that are affected, and wonder how to begin to dissect out the nature of my species. Other times I am aware of his curiosity in trying to guess the contents of my lectures and in short times, is its gaze that seeks to my not finding the abstract meaning of a football comment is echoed in the inhabitants of our mini-multiverse on wheels.
In a way, I think that little notebook you always get when you start the bus, is a laboratory registered in our becomings scoring with the insane intention to qualify as species and subspecies: limpiezus hummus, hummus estudiantus, hummus students responsablis pater, hummus vagus ... and that terrifies me most, that which is considered a lower scale, as the younger brother of culture, who wanted but could not ... secundarius hummus, which will surely have already joined my shadow.
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