On the bus the other day, a soft voice piped up beside me. "What magazine is that?"
I look over to my seatmate, a bearded lady with thick glasses, hair in a neat ponytail, ash-colored skin. I think she's a bearded lady, but here in SF we have all the ranges of gender and between-gender, she might be mid-transition from male to female or vice-versa, or someone happily in-between.
Her voice is sweet as soft-serve ice-cream.
I'm reading The Week, and I show her the cover. We discuss the articles, how CSI gives criminals ideas, how hookworm can cure allergies, how leeches are making a comeback.
She calls across the aisle to a woman standing up, "Mama, you wanna come sit on my lap?"
She giggles as the other woman shakes her head.
"Oh my," the bearded lady says, "I've had too much oxygen today!"
I want to ask her about this, is she taking oxygen treatments? is this just an expression of hers? some other sort of treatment that involves oxygen? but it's my stop, I get up to let the other woman sit beside her, and she's talking and giggling, hand fluttering above her breasts, and as I step out of the bus, I can hear her exclaim:
"My oh my oh my, too much oxygen today!"
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4 comments:
Perhaps it's a euphamism for huffing glue.
I really dig these slice of life moments. As well as the random fiction moments regarding space monkeys and sich. Although I have no objections to nudity, real or imagined.
Mmm, glue huffing...
Rest assured, all of my shit will be preserved. May the stars shine down upon all of you.
And - clearly, nudity is my new priority.
This is fantastic. I love found stories and love that you're acting as scribe. You're worthy of your hire.
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