Look around and it’s all you see. 7 out of 10 travellers have things poked in their ears, white wires dangling around their person. I’m in the 3, not the MP3. Can’t stand the tsst, tsst, tsst, hope they all go deaf. Wilbur keeps me happy. Bags, laptops, shopping, papers, magazines, trolleys and bikes. What people need to travel to work with? No manners for sure. Nodding heads, sleepy minds, last night’s tv, picking noses, clipping finger nails, smudged make-up, make-up smudging. Nowhere to look, sunglasses on. Take some vitamin pills, bit of breakfast, pie, cake, toast, fruit, sushi anyone?

Minutes tick by.

Bounced and battered on the badly repaired springy seats. Will they catch the killer in the latest thriller? Novel if they do. Folded newspapers. More printed guff about NSW state politicians being in a state, a depressing state. No money here, get the taxpayers to pay, again. Cut this, scrap that. NRL on the front pages for the wrong reasons. Again. Bin Laden’s dead, William’s married. I’m still bored with all this. A machine says “doors closing”. Rush of schoolkids, swearing, pushing, shoving; just games. Shirts hanging out, holidaymaker sized bags. Lunchboxes of salad and sarnies. Neatly pressed uniforms for the bank, ties, coats, brollies, more bags.

More minutes tick by.

Shoes never polished, I hate that. Shirts not ironed properly, that I hate more, wear a T instead, scruff bag. Dirty windows, graffiti scored into the glass or burned on with a lighter, bubblegum always on the seats. Feet on the seats, fines apply. No wonder they’re cheap. 60 bucks for 700 kilometres in a week if you like. Without air con, except on chilly winter mornings. Stifling in the summer, travel with a drink they say. Water they mean, not ice cold goldies. Cobwebs in the corners of the windows. Cockroaches race along the floor disappear down the cracks. Seat wars, stuffy air, spread out a little more, keep out the intruder. Ring tones, patchy reception, stupid conversations. No reception, tunnels under Sydney. More pages please Wilbur. Too much perfume, not enough deodorant, stifling people smells. Have to get out, get off the loser cruiser.

Too much time gone. Forever gone.

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