Until I get my headphone jack fixed, I'm finding other ways to amuse myself.
Writing on Public Transit without head phones:
An old man sat on a bench, watching the sunset. The small lacquer box sat on his lap and he stared at its contents for moments that felt like ages. With a deep breath, he closed the box and watched the brilliant purples and oranges that followed the setting sun into the ocean.
And she don’t need to be talking to him. I don’t care what she said about nothing.
The old man reflected on all the promises he had made to the people whose lives had been lost so that someone like him could live to see this sunset.
No, I don’t have the files on me. You’ll have to go into my computer. No, the one in my office. Ya, just go ahead and forward that to Peggy. Oh , Peggy's the worst.
A tear rolled down the man’s weathered cheek. Too much weight, it felt at times. No one should be responsible for that much weight. Yet here he was, and here he waited.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
What the hell was that?
I dunno, somebody’s kid sitting over there.
Are they being murdered?
Na, they’re just little assholes and their parents aren’t paying attention.
The old man cradled the box in his arms as the light faded from the sky.
I’m the freshest Atlanta rapper, the pop capper, on the streets I look dapper.
He focused on all of the memories-
Perfume, cologne, wrist watches! You need a watch?
Of days gone by, of all the people that had been left behind.
Next Stop Lindbergh Center. Check out Marta at Marta on the go! Echa un vistazo a Marta en Marta en el camino!
He closed his eyes-
I need that sent to work right now! It’s got to be there before I get in!
Clutched the small box tight.
Put her on the phone! I’m ‘bout to tell her ass what’s up!
The hip-hop sensation, all over the nation, dropping stacks at my celebration.
Peggy! So glad to hear you!
Next Stop Arts Center, home of Fox Theater, Center for the Performing Arts and-
The old man said fuck it, and threw the box in the ocean.
The end.
