Ten buses, one behind the other, each identical in form, swaying slowly forward in identical motion, each seething with people like parasites in a swollen body. They loom for a moment, weird and alienating giant creatures, then blend back into the shimmering weave of normality.
Today's small stone.
I can see them pulsating. Nice.
Often I want to detach public transport from its context, take a bus or train and lift it up into the sky, or drop it into the wilderness, whisper: what if this isn't a transition at all, what if it's its own place? What if this is home?
This is sort of a nightmarish version of that: what if what we *really* are is the innards of a bus-creature?
I enjoyed this very much- and I especially like that buses can sway.
Thought I commented before, but here I am again, re-reading and loving this one especially.
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