…Blazing sun. Thick pollution. The maddening laughter of mindless children. Cars whizzing by, certain of their destination. There’s a hurried start, a journey on autopilot, a disappointing destination. I glue myself to the nearest bench. More laughter-screams from the runts. Briny globs of sweat seep through my parted lips and onto the tip of my tongue. I have nowhere to go.
Just sitting and waiting. Not forcing the future, not pressing the past on my mind. Let’s just ride this wave of present time. It’s all now—just a little slice of the fourth-dimension at a time. What’s the rush? There is none.
I’ll know when to move from this bench. A car will pause its dashing from the past to the future for a taste of the present—for me. Or perhaps, a truck, a bus, a motorcycle. Something.
Something! Or perhaps someone? Anything. Anything will see my rotting Converse sneakers—When did my toe start poking through?—glued to the baking pavement, the stained—How did that sauce get there?—pinstriped shirt shielding my sallow—Wait, freckled?—skin from the baking sun. Anything will see my—my—
When? How? WHO? Who else on earth can withstand now-ness of now? When will I be thrust into the future, be immersed in the past? When will I know?
Know the origin of the gaping cavity in my shoe, the blotch of sauce that has discolored my shirt, the invasion of freckles that have procreated upon my once pure skin. To be propelled into the future, to discover the past—To know ME.
An approaching bus. My chance! Here comes the future, my opportunity to time travel. Just—just get on the bus. Get on…Get on…Get on!
…Blazing sun. Thick pollution. The maddening laughter of mindless children. Cars whizzing by, certain of their destination. There’s a hurried start, a journey on autopilot, a disappointing destination. I glue myself to the nearest bench. More laughter-screams from the runts. Briny globs of sweat seep through my parted lips and onto the tip of my tongue. I have nowhere to go…
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