Riding the Bus

After work today I walk out of the building and out the gate, up Omnibus Lane, right onto Ultimo Road, left along Harris Street to Broadway and across to Railway Square. That's where I catch the bus home.
I lean against the railing and pull my book out. I read a paragraph then look up to see if the bus is coming, then look around at the other people. My eyes almost pop out of their sockets to see a tall and brown and muscular woman proudly striding along with her breasts almost popping out of her top. There only appears to be some thin lime green material on either side, barely containing them, I can't see how. My mouth snaps open and I blink a few times rapidly. Am I hallucinating? No, there she is and there they are. It's not even summer any more, and it's getting pretty cool now, especially at this time of day. I don't feel the cold, but if I did I would have my jacket on. But here is a woman with her defiant and magnificent breasts thrust boldly out and into the cool Autumn air.
Still marvelling, I make my eyes move back down to the book.
Several buses charge up and one of them is mine. I join the crowd and climb up the stairs, my face in the ass of some sweet-smelling young uni student. It doesn't bother me. It is not uncomfortable. I don't move back. She doesn't seem to mind, either.
It occurs to me that I am surrounded by desirable women.
I hand over my $1.60, always exact change. The bus starts at this stop so there are always plenty of seats. Some people look at me as I walk up the aisle, some people look out the window. I find an empty seat, slide over to the window and open my book. After I read one sentence four times, I look around at the other people on the bus. There is a man with his hair sticking up, he is looking at the ceiling with his mouth open. In front of him is a woman with white wires coming out of her ears. Another man is wearing a suit, he is reading the sports section of the newspaper. What is so interesting about the sports section? Sometimes, just for the hell of it, and sometimes to see if there are any pictures of synchronised swimming, I will flip through the sports section and all I ever see is pictures of people with distorted and grotesque facial expressions.
The bus stops at some traffic lights and I look out the window at the cars alongside the bus. There is somebody in each car operating that vehicle. They have to negotiate traffic and deal with traffic lights. They get impatient because they get another red light, or get mad because somebody cuts in front of them. I'm glad to be on the bus. I got my book and I can read it, don't have to watch for red lights or idiots swerving in front of me. The bus driver handles that, and he is a professional, it's his job. Anyway, the bus is enormous. It wouldn't matter too much if some idiot swerved in front of us. And I can look up from my book anytime I want and look at the other people on the bus. The people with the white wires coming out of their ears. The junkie couple up the front facing us all with half-closed eyes and eyeballs rolling around lazily, loudly discussing "twenty cent".
The women reading books they refuse to show me the cover of.