Times are tough. The people on the bus look increasingly desperate. Just yesterday one was using a pen knife to remove the rubber sealant from around the window. The bus driver didn't say a word and just kept his eyes on the road, looking like the prison van driver in the The Fugitive Kind.
Each day at the same stop a man climbs aboard wearing a knit cap and carrying a brown paper bag that smells of sour milk. Each time I make a transaction to place my rucksack on the empty seat beside me to ward him away.
It’s not healthy to start your day with an act of deception to your fellowman but these are desperate times. People are living in fear. You can see it in their faces. The hardships are starting to show. It draws lines to the face and makes the cheekbones apparent. In some ways we’re becoming more beautiful.
There was a time I used to be good at misfortune. I could act it out so well I could have made a living from it. I spent my nights listening to pre-war blues and drinking beer in the bath. Those times are over now- days like these the knives are out for fakes like us.
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