In Prompt Too.

"This is bullshit."

~ Brad Biddix

Prompt 9.

"This is bullshit," I say to myself. 

"Nothing new," the me inside answers back. "But it must be done, no matter what you feel like doing."

"Does it?"

"Of course it does," I reply. "You only get to miss one session of writing, and it shouldn't be the one that is as easy as doing scene setting and dialogue. There is plenty of time to waste some other time, and might I remind you that you've already wasted enough of it this week."

"You're an ass," is all that I have by way of response.

Prompt 10.

Warning: I haven't really been in a very crowded place any this week. However, i did take a little trip in a cab and this is what i picked up from it...

It's cold out. I'm in the back of what I can only describe as a somewhat clean cab. The air doesn't smell stale in any way, and there are remarkably few spots of grime. The driver of the cab is wearing a Super Bowl jacket; one of the ones that looks like something a NASCAR driver might wear. Inside this cab, the radio is on some talk station and the woman doing all of the talking is in an argument with some caller about how the US bank system fucked people over on their property values. 

"Goddamned right!" exclaims the driver.

"Excuse me?" I say.

"These bastards are always trying something," he remarks. 

I say nothing to this and instead, settle back. This guy is really amusing to me. I love it when people respond to machines as if they're human. 

The ride continues like this until we reach the garage in which my Jeep is currently incarcerated, when the driver turns to me and says "Issues?"

"Not really," I tell him. "I just needed a few minor things done to that Jeep right there, and didn't have the money until recently."

"A Jeep," he says. Clearly, his mind is concocting some reason to keep the conversation going.

"What year is it?" he asks. 

"It's a 98," I respond. 

"My cousin says that there was about a ten year span when they kept putting out..," he starts saying. I don't really recall most of the rest of it, because I have a tendency to think of things more interesting than what's actually going on when I'm in situations like this. His mouth is still moving, I'm still nodding ans smiling, but for the life of me I can't understand a single fucking word of it.  At some point I noticed that he has stopped talking.

"Interesting," I say in flat monotone. 

I give him a twenty, tell him to give me ten back, and then I exit the vehicle. 

Prompt 12. 

This is the part of my day that I dislike the most. I think that I dislike it more now, because it's cold outside, but I have never been a fan of this time of day. Whenever I'm not in class, this is where I am at this time. It's roughly 2:54 PM and I'm walking up the block of ice that passes for a sidewalk outside of the kids' school. There are cars all along both sides of the street, completely wreaking havoc on the neighborhood that houses the school. I often feel bad for people that drive down this road at this time of day, as everyone is so focused on getting their kid, that they don't give a rat's ass about what anyone else is trying to do. As I get closer, I see the same group of assholes that stands at the gate every day. It's a motley crew of people of all age groups, although most of them are "professionals" in some way or another. A lot of them look like they modeled themselves from the pages of L.L. Bean, and drive the cars to match. 

As I look at them, it seems as if they're looking at me strangely. This could either be entirely true, or just a paranoid delusion, in which case I'm looking at them strangely, yet projecting what I'm doing onto them. Either way, I don't like the looks of them. The type of assholes that would trip you to save their own asses, were we all being chased by wolves. 

The electronic bell sounds. The ever-tired voice of 3:00 PM announces that "Children on Bus K may be released." And that "Parent Walkers and Car Pickups," may also "be released." 

Release the hounds, I think. Oh, and they do. The doors burst open and children from grades K-3rd come rushing out of the door at full speed. It's like something out of a modern zombie film, where you know, you just fucking know, that the time to escape it all has passed. 

The asshole parents of the asshole kids watch as their little mutant spawn cover the street, the playground and the masses, without a single thought to safety or whoever they might run into in the process. It's chaos at the asshole factory. 

And it will all happen again tomorrow.