laughing at the bastards

to convince myself that there's something else in this city other than work and traffic and smog, i resolved to notice peculiar details of my day. i find that by doing so, my sense of humor is elevated.

walking home one late afternoon, i almost bumped into a buddhist monk (shaven head and orange gown and beads and all). now, that was three years ago and i couldn't still reconcile his presence in our neighborhood. i didn't see him again either. i am becoming more convinced everyday that i willed him into being, to humor myself. he afterall had that sheepish, shit, i feel like everything about me calls for weird stares, i might as well have dressed up like mother theresa, trasvestite style look in his eyes. and help! i'm lost! gasp!

and this morning, a band of policemen with convicts in hadcuffs boarded the public bus i was on. they moved in the aisle, like a sea of orange and blue misfits to sit at the back. the other passengers were gawk-eyeing them, turning their heads, their mouths not moving but i could hear their protests, their horrified gasps. the convicts themselves looked sheepish and ashamed that the government's bus had to break down on them and thus cause undue fear on the good taxpayers commuting quietly, back to the tall buildings that house and suppress dreams. their closed mouths were saying, "puta madre! why can't they just bring us quietly to where they would treat us worse than animals without dreams?"

i found myself thinking that if i were one of the bald, orange-clad, with a big P screaming on my back, handcuffed doomed soul, wouldn't i stare at that 35-ish woman in cheap make-up, tight-fitting jeans and high-heels and take a fourth of a second longer walking past her and whisper, "would you like to be my 5th?" and chuckle.