While many people commemorate the sabbath by attending Church i ride the 7. The lack of seating options make it clear im not the only one. They come from all walks of life to meet and say their silent pagan prayers. Many hide behind headphones and fictious novels in a vain attempt to block out the veiled humanity. They cannot hide forever.
A man boards the front with all of his belongings tied to his back, a philosophy i once subscribed to but found too daunting a task to be sustainable. From the weathered look on his face its apparent he would agree. He takes a seat in the center of the articulated bus where there is ample space to spread out his life. He pulls a tall can from one of his sachels and much to my surprise it is some kind of tea and not a mind numbing fortified beveridge. A little boy has escaped his mothers eye and stands before the vagabond as if he were watching the shock and awe over baghdad. His mother was preoccupied by a novel whose cover portrayed a half naked man standing on a rock surrounded by crashing waves holding a lust ridden woman in his arms. When she notices his absence panic sets in. She spots the boy and rushes to scoop him up. The dilapidated man cracks a small smile and waves to the boy who bursts into laughter. After everyone settles back in the man pulls a book from the largest of his bags and begins to read. A few people come and go before i realize from the cover picture he may be reading the same story as the boys mother.
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