bopis

Yesterday, I went home after classes, lunch with the girl, and my uneventful trip home. Seems always sad to call something uneventful. It’s like I either I didn’t have the eyes to explore the moment or there was no moment to be explored in the first place. Which is more sad? Anyway, maybe I did see some things. Maybe the few migraine pages of Bellow’s The Dean’s December were events in themselves. Maybe that English-speaking swell-breasted youth with a spongebob cap, a short braid, pedal pushers, and sweet-looking calves was an event. Especially because she’s seating across me. Especially because she put her legs up and possessed what should be a seat for three. Her eyes were on the cover of my book. Possibly, if I read this that "Why every day is a ride" six years and eighteen days from now, I would have forgotten the girl’s face. Even forget the flesh of her stomach when she tried to adjust the aircon and failed. There were two people with her, a tot and another girl with no shoulder straps. They sat in the seat in front of hers. With their backs to me, it is possible to forget them. Even this girl with white rubber shoes an arm's length away is forgettable. It is possible to someday say I had an uneventful ride.

Etiquetas: woman19