Monday, September 20, 2004

Gnip: vignette 1

Y’all have been getting antsy, haven’t you, looking for my next transit vignette?  Those precious pearls of commuter experience that make you wonder why you even logged onto the internet in the first place, when you could be out riding the bus and getting a fistful of reality rammed down your hangstrap?  Well I hear you loudly and clearly, and frankly it’s not even entertaining to ignore you anymore.  Just to quell the discontent, here’s head 1 of a double-header of transit vignettes:

Gnip:

It seemed to be ‘that kind of morning’ early on - even at the bus stop, the women and girls were unusually easy on the eyes.  One I got on the bus, things on the visual entertainment front really accellerated.  The quality and quantity of eye candy was truly impressive - like having dessert right after breakfast. I was standing on the bus when she got on; I noticed her immediately and knew that our paths would collide even though we stood far apart in the crowded aisle.  As anticipated, within ten minutes we were settling into adjoining seats, our thighs barely brushing together.  I pulled out a notebook so I’d have somewhere more appropriate to stare, but it didn’t really work.  The competition from the next seat was just too intense.  She looked young, self-possessed, and so much like J-Lo that Jenny From the Bloque should hire professionals to keep them from ever appearing in public together, for fear of diluting her star power.  Hair, skin, general physique were all uncanny matches (though my neighbor was quite petite overall); the girl next to me even wore a rhinestone stud where her elder doppleganger has a mole.  Her slim legs were accentuated by tight denim, while her wide hips flared under the hem of her light sweater; she held herself demurely with deep eyes cast down to her lap.  Her pale green cable-knit scarf matched her pale green knit cap, surmounted with two little ponpoms side-by-side on the top like some adorable kitten’s ears. 

I tried to concentrate on my writing but when I glanced over with utmost subtlty to check her out at one point, I found, to my consternation and fascination, that she had begun to suck on the tip of her thumb.  With utter discretion and tact I swallowed hard and tried to control, or at least conceal, my circulatory response to the immediacy of her parted lips and the moist, lucky digit that she slipped between them.  She glanced over to me as I was composing myself and she smiled shyly; her thumb slid more deeply between her lips and into her cloistered mouth.  I smiled and said nothing.  I wanted to regale her with something witty and urbane and memorable but I couldn’t think of a single thing I felt comfortable saying, so she left the bus once we got downtown without a single word having been exchanged between us.