the pure breed mare in nightmare

I’m riding bus number 9. It’s the first time in a long time that I’m doing this. I take the first chair behind the driver, on the left – the side we drive around here. I’m looking out the window and at the same time looking at it to see my reflection. Can’t really say which eye sees what. This city is sad. More like lonely-sad to be laying in its own stink, decrepit state and hypocrisy. It smells bad. Just like the guy sitting behind me. Then again, who am I to judge? He might have a condition. Maybe he does not have a place to stay and is taking a ride on the bus to forget about that. It’s not my bus so why should I care or form an opinion? I don’t, even though it hurts my smell. The hour is late and the sun has set. What a paradox: the darkness brings out even more ugliness. I look up for hope. I think I see birds that fly away, only they are fucking bats. Their wings flap with contempt and this is merely a reflection of the people walking below. I’m holding a small watch battery that I have found on some stairs I was climbing before I got to the bus station. I’m playing with it and can almost feel it vibrate. It’s in my head tho, the battery is fuckin’ dead. Why else would it be laying on the ground for people to step on it? Finally a ray of light in this dump shit hole: teenage lovers, so untainted and so pure. They hold hands and don’t see any of the sadness that miraculously reveals itself to me every day. The grey in black and brown is being washed away only by billboards. Thank God and advertising for that. However this is only during daylight, because at night there is no light to see their colors, other than the moon’s and poor her, she’s covered in clouds of foggy car smoke so you can imagine the sight. We’ve turned into bats ourselves, our eyes have adjusted to the poor conditions of light. I guess we’ve adjusted to the ugliness and don’t seem to mind it anymore. The drugs come in handy too. Just like the billboards, shed a little color and a dip of confusion and maybe just a drop of paranoia. The perfect mix to the not entirely perfect life we hang on to. This girl sitting beside me has the most beautiful chestnut hair. She can’t be more than 15. I used to be 15 and had chestnut hair. Then I dyed it. It lost its color just like I have lost my virginity – two of the teen girl’s mile stones. More like mild stones for me compared to the rocks that were thrown my way the years to come. Here comes my stop. I have to get off. The thing I can’t possibly understand is why the hell are people in such a hurry to get off the bus? Yeah! Push like cattle in the barn, you cavemen. Geez. God forbid you were left in the bus and had to get off at the next stop. Who would like a bit of unexpected in their life? Nobody. Only the crazy and the irresponsible and the dreamers. The dreamers of bad dreams of course. The nightmare riders.