This morning on the bus, I was absorbed enough in my own thoughts that when a very, very old man, wearing a plaid shirt and leaning painfully on a cane, got on the bus I looked directly at him and forgot that I was sitting in the reserved section. I was mortified when someone older than myself and not exactly in the best health herself got up to offer her seat.
When the second old man, wearing a plaid shirt and leaning painfully on a cane, got on the bus and immediately got a seat from someone else, I thought this is kind of silly.
When the third plaid-wearing old fuck got on the bus, I thought this is ridiculous and stood up for him. At first I felt good because I got a chance to redeem myself for earlier, but the uniform plaid shirts and wrinkled, colorless skin made it hard for me to do anything but giggle, which I struggled to contain. It’s already been a morning.