I shake while sitting; I feel simple bumps, hear the clatter of uncontrollable motion, and see the outside as a normal day, but the public relies on this governmental stranglehold.
The public: a lazy bike rider who smokes away his bad mistakes without regret; a large man, a whole pizza to himself, friendly but stable and authoritative; a young man who has already lost his way; various Native-Americans of different ages and scents staring at various Hispanics of different ages and scents; an African-American woman at the front of the bus.
I’m being transported into the unknown. Coincidently, when a new group of African-Americans came aboard, my stop was next and I exited the worn chariot. It was unfortunate; I didn’t want to appear racist, for I am a white male and society has now labeled me for something I’m not.
I don’t understand. I could never understand, but it doesn’t mean I’m not aware. People are wrongfully accused based on assumption, others are pathetic in their intentions and mask their stupidity under a false sense of intelligence and entitlement.
The stereotypical public.
No picture taken.