It's 6:30pm. I'm sitting on a bus and wondering what would happen if I stood up and screamed "EUREKA!" as loud as humanly possible. My guess is that the other people on the bus probably wouldn't believe me and things would get rather awkward rather quickly. I don't like awkward bus rides, so I'm sitting here. Looking out the window as the city turns into a bumpy blur.
I wonder if platypus (or is it platypi? I can never remember) have feelings. If they do, I imagine that platypus/pi feelings are probably quite far removed from human feelings. But you never know. Maybe we have more in common with platypi than we can possibly imagine (I'm pretty sure it's platypi at this point. It just sounds... right).
The bus just started making a strange noise. It's not a bus-like noise at all but I'm not worried about it because we just passed a guy walking on a tightrope in a park. He's concentrating. He's not a very good tightrope-walker, but he's better than someone who has never walked on a tightrope (That's just a guess, but probably a fairly good one).
I hope he hasn't lost something. Not now, I mean... Not WHILE he's actually tightrope-walking. It would be a bad time to lose something. Not at all convenient.
I just noticed the guy sitting beside me. He's wearing Ray-Ban sunglasses and a sports coat as he reads Molière. He looks like he should (or rather that he wants to be) in a Truffaut film. Not a movie. A film. It's not annoying, but really, it is...
A very serious-looking man just sat next to him. His face is serious. The rest of him is just... odd. He's wearing cycling shorts. No scratch that. He's wearing a full-on cycling outfit. He looks like he's going to a Tour de France party. Maybe he's an extremely fashion-conscious jogger. Regardless, he doesn't look like he should be on a bus and yet... Here he is.
Tour de France guy just took his fluorescent-lined sneakers. Truffaut doesn't seem at all happy about this. Oh. He's putting on a pair of Adidas workout pants. They're vinyl, or Gore-Tex (I can never tell the difference). What is this guy? A walking commercial?
Wouldn't companies love that? If they could start sponsoring regular people, instead of athletes and celebrities? They could just take over some poor sap's life. "You wear our clothes and tell people how great they are. Simple, isn't it... uh... Frank?"
It probably already happens. I just don't know any of them. Maybe I do. Maybe I'm one of them. Why am I wearing this stuff? And where's my cheque?
I see trees of green. Clouds of white. And I think to myself...
What a Wonderbra world...