Day 270

A wearied soul leans up against a bus stop shelter.
The five minute wait time should read eternity.
The nine stops between this place and theirs should be in miles.
The distant percussive of the city scape, never fully felt but ever present, should just be a metronome.
Tick, click, swivel, and scrape and
the buzzing of the streetlamps should be a human hum.
Hmmmm. Hmmmm. Hmmmm.
And the wearied soul, should let weariness go, and show off the rest on their blistered soles
as a beat. Beat. Beat. Atapapa.
Hmmmmm-mmmhmm.
Step. Step.
Hmmmmm-mmmhmm.
Step. Together. Step. Together.
Hmmmmm-mmmhmm.
Step slide. Step slide
Twirl. STOMP!
Y'see even in this urban jungle. The steel-glass sea, where the weather varies:
from manic to oppressive
labyrinthine to depressive
depricating to e-e-excessive
We are, all of us, ever ready - ever eager - ever steady to step out of still sobriety, and step into something a lil more wacky
Flappy, angles and elevations, quakes -shakes, restabilization.
Sure we invented straight lines, knives and 9 to fives,
But we also created slinkys shake your tail feather nights and locomotion needs some motion, and motion's in emotion cause we can be moved even standing still!
At any moment of a moment, pre post or middle, we find we're going to break out and move to the music
because we're no longer worried or hurried about missing out on the next flurry of street cars coming or that shuttle coming soon and dancing's not the most direct means of transportion, but without a doubt or speculation I can vouch it being more fun then any modern relocation its-
PSHHH.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Kshhhhhh.
"Please wait for other passengers to exit, before entering the bus."
Step. Step.
Close.
VROOOOOOOoooooooooommmmm...........