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Not a day for dithering:

Nine-thirty, on a Saturday morning, the sky is a simpson, it's bloody cold,the wind is blowing an absolute howler, and I, fresh off the night-shift stand freezing my nuts off, waiting for a bus going into town.
I haven't washed,or brushed my teeth and am in need of a shave. All i've cared to do is drag a brush through my hair, and put on my black snorkel-parka.
The bus, with the same driver who delivered me safely here two hours ago, is bang on time. "Thank-you sir", he greets, politely, casually glancing at the bus-pass that he had sold me earlier , i go upstairs, and make myself comfortable, appreciating the rise in temperature, compared to outside. Big mistake.
I intended not to nod off. I ALWAYS intend, not to nod off. Well, greenbelt, and various villages passed without my knowledge, and before i'd had time to rub my eyes, the police station, my get-off stop, was looming , and thank who-ever, that somebody else had rung the bell to get off.
The bells of St.Peter's chimed ten, as i made my way down a back-alley to the library, and soon i was back in the warm.Whatever happened to that mythical hush of the public library?Or has it always been a precisely that? A myth. There was noise, the sound of people busying themselves, and screaming kids, preparations were in progress it seemed, for some sort of exhibition.
I don't do noise.
I don't do people.
Screaming kids an absolute no'no.
And i don't do exhibitions.
No books caught my eye, and Frydays beckoned.
Hot chips and an empty bus-shelter, dither's desert island.
Y'know?The times i've sat there, wondering how Downan is, hoping that he's okay. And then i see him with his shoulder-length yellow hair, hobbling painfully,around the cornmarket,checking-out the litter-bins, and i wish that i could be some place else. I wish there was something i could do to help. Ground,please swallow me up.Well at least he's not dead.
As i ate my chips, i sat staring into cracks in the pavement, in the hope that i might day-dream, inviting thoughts,feelings and emotions, to flood in, but nothing happened, and i can't say that i minded really.
The bus back arrived and i wasn't sorry to board.
I just wanted to go home.

Not a day for dithering.:nonchalance:


Thanks Escorial,
it's sort of what i want to do, but seems quite empty, there's nothing going on and i might easily have scrubbed this one to, if not for a fellow forumite named Flesheater,well i think that's his name.
I didn't/don't dare to ask for critique on something like that.
It reads as though i'd wore a blindfold. I mean, where are the people,houses,shops? Beggars,buskers and the pigeons.
There are times, when although i'm just out shopping/running errands or whatever, that i get off my bus, well, even before i get off my bus, the whole process of the going, and the doing, is somehow turned into nothing more than a gentle/carefree stroll, and that's when i see things, i marvel at it all, everything.
And it's not happening mate,it's just not ******* happening.:disturbed:

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