blog.

Precisely after I vowed to be more cognisant of my immediate surroundings, I realize the small, dome-shaped object I'm staring at appears to be someone's missing acrylic finger nail. Lying near the doors of the B-line, dirt gathering in linear mounds along the rounded edges, the nail looks dully comical. The doors of the bus swing open and brush addition grime up against the nail- polished a glitter-flecked silver color, tipped with frosted pink- French manicure a la mobile home.

Sitting in a dirt nest, the finger nail is reminiscent of some D-list, low-budget horror film, in which one of the supporting characters, distressed, comes across a severed human finger in some unexpected place- such as their garburator, glove-box, or medicine cabinet.

and that was the 8am bus ride to integral calculus this morning.