washed up - dp beach - isla vista, ca
i have a pretty substantial fear of face planting on muni. the following scenario is one that i play in my mind each time i flash my monthly pass: i climb onto the thirty, both hands gripping shopping bags. i anticipate the bus's acceleration, but underestimate the driver's pent up rage. i take ginger steps toward the glossy, burnt orange seats. the driver guns it. my small-turned-giant, stomping steps can't compensate for the zero to thirty in two seconds. so i take a dive face-first, into the sticky, trodden, rubber flooring. and all of the little chinamen laugh at once. "beeg laydee faal daun." the horror. i've never seen it happen, but i'm sure it has.
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