Boredom Exercise #1

He made his way down the narrow aisle of the city bus with the painful sort of clumsiness common to the very old. His hips were wide and covered by an ancient looking blue sweater vest, ill-fitting, stretched out, and reaching to his knees. He settled into his seat, without ackowledging either of the two people who, upon his approach, quickly removed themselves from the bench at the front of the bus. This section, clearly marked with red and black stickers, silhoutting photos of an old, stooped over lady with a walker, a baseball capped person on crutches and an exaggeratedly pregnant woman, is taboo for the young, healthy and barren. In the summer this apparent VIP section reeks of body odor, alcohol and the thick perfumes of elderly women in floppy hats who clutch cloth shopping bags and often make conversations with reluctant drivers, attractive teenage girls, or sometimes, in the spirit of the one-sideness of most bus discussions, simply chat and laugh to themselves. Highschool kids at the back giggle, sitting in their little groups of three or four, sometimes slightly too loud for politeness, while professionals, black-jacket-starched-collar-sensible-shoes, look to their peers, engage in a momentary silent and collective eyebrow raise and proceed to shift around uncomfortably in their seats, as though disconnecting themselves from the potential contagion, saturating the upholstery of the seats, that is old age and senility.