The Botanical Flowers

The guy with the elbow tattoo got on the bus again today, the one I take to go see the flowers at the botanical gardens. He sort of reminds me of the albino kid except he’s not all pale and has brown hair. He’s got greenish eyes, but I don’t generally notice eyes, especially if there guys eyes like his. ‘For Christ sakes’, my grandmamma used to say, ‘eyes are eyes, so stop making a problem where one isn’t’. Problems are problems the way I see it, so it don’t make a lick of difference whether it’s got to do with the colour of some guy’s eyes or the tea in China. It’s sickening, really, I mean that you aren’t suppose to say what’s on your mind, you’d think we was in China or something. Reminds me of before when our house burnt and my mom and dad were always arguing about bills and me never taking out the garbage on the proper day. I knew it was on a Wednesday but always forgot, I suppose there’s a reason for that, forgetting and all, but I can’t be bothered to remember how come. Anyhow that fucker gets on my bus and starts to read the National Geographic again, like I’m suppose to think he’s a bishop or something. The nerve of some people, the fucking nerve really. I could give a rat’s ass about some guy with greenish eyes reading the National Geographic so he might as well just stop wasting his time and mine. Maybe I’ll walk next time to see the flowers, as long as it’s not uphill or in China.