Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Cake
Its one of the best things you could ever see on the bus: a fellow commuter with a box of cake. Last night, I happened to sit beside one. Our bus seat was directly above the back tires of the bus, so my bus mate had her knees elevated and upon her knees she rested the two corners of the cake box with her two hands supporting the remaining two sides of the box. This balancing act ran from the start of the trip to its end. She had to keep her cake horizontally stable so as not to ruin the side icing. I moved a bit and hit her cake with my elbow, and she tilted her head and she gave my arm the evil eye of Sauron.
Remember this and remember it well: Never mess with a commuter who carries a box of cake. The mission to bring home something that bears so much happiness is worth achieving at all costs. And so I kept still, and I didn’t mind because after all, I didn’t want to mess with the girl.
Later that night, I tried to raise a mental image of something that I have almost buried at the back of my head: Its one of the best things that I have ever seen in my life. He was a carpenter, and by his foot was a bag, and in the bag were the implements of his trade: a worn saw with a PVC pipe teeth guard, a hammer, nylon string, inside the bag I imagined I’d see nails and a steel L-ruler, perhaps a pair of electrician’s pliers. The carpenter wore a white shirt that humbly proclaimed his modest life. His face and body was burned to a dark tan: but then this is no surprise because what carpenter wouldn’t have skin in any other hue? His veins bulged and if you look, you could easily count how many snaked his hand. And on the carpenters nose rested a pair of worn pair of glasses, and the eyes behind them looked forward to the bus destination because on his lap a box rested: it was bright yellow and it looked really new and shiny and on top of the box were five small candles that were hastily taped on the surface, and inside the box was a cake and on the cake, written in cursive script using blue cake frosting were the words Happy Birthday.
…
curiosity killed the cat: www.chucknorris.com
Remember this and remember it well: Never mess with a commuter who carries a box of cake. The mission to bring home something that bears so much happiness is worth achieving at all costs. And so I kept still, and I didn’t mind because after all, I didn’t want to mess with the girl.
Later that night, I tried to raise a mental image of something that I have almost buried at the back of my head: Its one of the best things that I have ever seen in my life. He was a carpenter, and by his foot was a bag, and in the bag were the implements of his trade: a worn saw with a PVC pipe teeth guard, a hammer, nylon string, inside the bag I imagined I’d see nails and a steel L-ruler, perhaps a pair of electrician’s pliers. The carpenter wore a white shirt that humbly proclaimed his modest life. His face and body was burned to a dark tan: but then this is no surprise because what carpenter wouldn’t have skin in any other hue? His veins bulged and if you look, you could easily count how many snaked his hand. And on the carpenters nose rested a pair of worn pair of glasses, and the eyes behind them looked forward to the bus destination because on his lap a box rested: it was bright yellow and it looked really new and shiny and on top of the box were five small candles that were hastily taped on the surface, and inside the box was a cake and on the cake, written in cursive script using blue cake frosting were the words Happy Birthday.
…
curiosity killed the cat: www.chucknorris.com
# posted by ZeroZen @ 9:31 AM 
