IT'S ALWAYS A CIRCLE.
I'm sitting by the window in this coaster bus and the wind is not only caressing my face, it is also sending my hair that was once well combed before I left the house to various destinations. I notice that the man sitting next to me has discomfort written all over his face. Poor man! Who wouldn't be? I saw him dip his hands into his pockets, I thought he wanted to offer me rubber band to hold the flying thing in one place, but he didn't. I'm sure he would have done just that if he had any in his pocket. Instead of mentioning his discomfort, he chose to ignore me and my hair. I'm leaning close to the window and I'm staring at all the people moving up and down the street. The lady trying to make sales while the traffic lasts, the man carrying a bag that weighs more than he does, the woman sweeping the road and humming to herself, the young boy with earphones plugged to his ears and bouncing periodically to the tune in his ears, the school children movi...
