This old man at the bus carrying a guitar has a beautiful face, weathered, tired, filled with sadness or maybe boredom. The wrinkles of his forehead mismatch the harmony of his features, obviously reminiscent of a face that once was the object of all the pretty girls' attentions. He let me into the bus first, though he was already in line when I arrived. As we neared the next stop, he stood up and hit his head against the bus' metallic rail. He let out a quick, barely perceptible moan of pain and quickly stumbled to the door. He got there before the bus began slowing down. As the bus stopped the man wobbled from one side to the other, almost falling twice. The door finally opened and the stranger left. Pretty, tortured, cosmic soul, what have you done? Live your life freely. Don't lose your youthful spirit, which I see hiding beneath the wrinkled skin and dirty old clothes. I bless you and your path. May you find light in whatever troubles you've been facing.
A beautiful red-headed girl stepped into the bus. As she got closer I realized it was a man's body in a girl's outfit and face. Timid yet charming blue eyes. I can tell she's overthinking the passengers' reactions when they come to the realization. She sits on the back of the bus and puts her backpack on top of her legs to cover her chest. She looks out the window the entire time, not wanting to face the strangers of her surroundings, some of whom are throwing quick glances her way. I feel an urge to tell her- don't worry pretty girl. You do you, Be you. You're beautiful.
But I'm stuck to my seat and write down these words on my phone instead.
A brown man on a dark hoodie went flying off the bus as soon as the door opened. Drunkard, maybe. He smashed his face on the pavement and his legs went up towards the sky. Some of the passengers watched him struggle to get up, without being able to. No one spoke a word. No one moved a finger. The bus closed its doors and continued its way. The man was still figuring out how to get on his feet.