The Freak Observer
“The exploded tree is still there. The black-on-black skid marks on the pavement are still there. Eventually, I guess there will be one of those little white crosses to remind people that death is around every corner, in every barrow pit, and at every intersection, but there isn’t one yet. Looking out the window when we pass just isn’t the most interesting thing to do anymore. It’s yesterday’s gruesome. Nothing to see here, folks.
I still try to focus on something else when we go by that place. Like the boot on the jerk across the aisle. It’s got shit on it. He could have knocked it off, but he’s a jerk, so he didn’t, and now he’s got his feet up on the seat. I don’t want to get all Miss Manners, but what a fuckwad.
The fuckwad’s boot. I need to keep my mind on the fuckwad’s boot. For one thing, it’s a lot better than noticing that he keeps sticking his hand down his pants and scratching his unit. For another, I don’t want to go where my mind might take me if I looked out the window.
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