Bus

I woke up sweating, soaked wet. My mouth is dry and my body feels numb. I can hardly feel anything from my waist down. My swollen legs are a reflection of too many hours semi-seated while heading South down this endless road. Destination this time: Carnival. The bus is asleep, snoring deeply, probably inebriated by the opaque stench that fills at least the back of the bus, where I sit. The loud motor roar, coming from underneath my seat, is not loud enough to suffocate the snore this half-person sitting next to me produces. Coiled like a baby, this XXS sized person has been sleeping for hours, lying down comfortably where I can hardly sit. A mix of hatred and desire to be as little as him invades my soul. The impetus of waking him up, out of pure evilness, does not flow into action and the intent to throw him out the window stumbles on the inexistence of the smallest of windows, through where he would certainly fit. Instead I decide to drink some water and lay on top the other buttock. There must certainly be a more comfortable position to lay down... There you go! Now I only have to ignore this awful odor and this sort of soup that soaks my clothes so I can relax and let my tiredness take me to Morpheus arms. I imagine myself as a sailor on Cabral’s carrack, the one that for the first time arrived to the port I just left a few hours ago, assured that what awaits for me at my destination compensates the discomfort of the journey. At least in the carrack I sail now the the scurvy exists only in the putrid stench and rats sleep coiled, snoring like babies...

BR101 somewhere between Porto Seguro and Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, February 2009