bus tripping

shot one: a man, forest green hoodie imbibed with a geniune deep, planty green by the generous rain, dipped down like an insecure tear drop, picking up trash from a thin strip of grass, the pencil thin mustache on a once green, green face, now all ashen and concrete. he puts his red hand to his mouth, fingers bloated from the rain, and suspends a saturated cigarette from his lips, it dips low and forces a sharp angle at it's center, broken and humped in the rain, paper thin, like people, swelling and then falling apart, losing all ability to retain it's leafy interior. he collects bits of plastic and glass from nature's divide and carries them over to the road, unloads them as calm as one would salt a perfectly divine tomato. over and over, colorful strips of plastic floating along the street like motor oil caught in the sun. rainbow river running.

shot two: gel illuminates the bases of black hair folicals. i try to look away, yet i can't help but follow the shine across your dark skin and the plumpness of your scalp. i can almost taste the sweat welling up in those grooves, waiting to be evaporated by the artificial lights in this cap. black sun glasses push in tight on your temples. in fact, everything seems a little too, well, little. perhaps you like these lines, constricting yourself here only to let yourself bulge someplace else. you restrain yourself in speech, but your snores bulge. i watch sugar cane gallop on the waves of your inhales and exhales. i catch myself breathing in time. i hold my breath and try to imagine a different tune.

shot three: big, white and shiny. big, white, shiny and hard. a squeaky voice from a big head on a skinny legged body. incomprehensible noise and a big, white, shiny nod. i put together the sharp, dissonant shards of speech and ascertain she's talking about a number, a telephone number that matches the one in her small planner. the planner is washed out and worn. there's a picture of Arizona or New Mexico on it. Either way, it ain't here. the days are crossed out. she stares at the planner her hands shaking. what's there to read? and why the big, white, shiny helmet? what's she protecting herself against? the apacolypse or wayward bird droppings?