THE TRAVELER

Sitting at the bus stop. Between us there is this suitcase. Chipped at the corners. This suitcase, so old that the surface looks like cracked land. The only happiness this suitcase has the stickers, randomly put here and there on its body. The one near the handle, the one that is the biggest, reads CUNT and has the image of Little Miss Sunshine, holding a rainbow flag. I see it because his fingers are caressing Little Miss Sunshine's head as if he wants it to stick better. Or maybe his rough and dirty fingertips just enjoying  the smoothness against them.

“You”, he says, “you have great fingernails” and, takes his fingers off  of Little Miss Sunshine's head. He says, “but black polish would look better on them”. I raise my eyes only to meet his. The blue, the dark blue on those eyes is so sharp that it passes through his fuzzy hair which covers them and goes straight to your brain.

Why black? I ask. “Because you have the kind of hands I guess” he says. He says, “black is the night. You can dream in black.”

Maybe I am too tired or maybe it is too hot, or maybe, just maybe he does not make any sense.

He puts his fingers back on top of Little Miss Sunshine's head. Rubbing it up and down on her face and CUNT- written with capital letters, and he says, “I don't have a girlfriend you know. But I know a woman who would be very angry with me if she ever heard me saying this.”

"It is the most hilarious thing I have ever heard" I say to myself.. Now my curiosity pokes me.

Pointing the suitcase, “traveling?” I ask.

And he says, “ Yes... Mostly in my head”

Sitting at the bus stop and I am tired, and it is hot and maybe just maybe he is not making any sense. 

Sitting at the bus stop and between us there is this suitcase. Chipped at the corners.

Sitting at the bus stop and Little Miss Sunshine is smiling- his fingers are still rubbing up and down on her face and CUNT- written with capital letters.

Zeycan