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Nearby, a very young version of David Suzuki wears a purple hoodie whose hoodie appears to be deflated, deflated like a spent party-balloon.
Roy Orbison is riding in front of me, and he has produced a David Mitchell novel from inside his Pathfinders spooky-bookshop eco tote-bag.
The passenger cohort on this morning's bus consists of remarkably civil, quiet, respectful, sensible, well-behaved people, and i like them.
"Nina por le nada luna da problematico y newa penta como possibilia lanterno opportunitasticanto?" clearly means "no problems, next week?".
High above, the distance irrelevant, the Southern Cross exerts her calm, foresightful majesty upon the critters down below, and upon me too.
Although it's uncomfortable, his left arm extends over the double bus-seat, exerting territory-ownership from inside his shitty headphones.
An extraordinary test of blind faith extant in the flimsily-superstitiously-connected public-transport signage tonight. http://instagr.am/p...
RT @SodomyClown: In the end bro, if you're sighing more than talking and crying more than laughing, it ain't a good fit. That ain't love.
The large cockroach/rat hybrid that ran from the kitchen into the dining-room cleverly, quickly transformed into a shard of red-onion skin.
This afternoon i had a meeting in a tall building whose big windows exposed a vista that i kept looking into forever. http://twitter.com/belacqu...
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