peter pan bus.

God scratched his nails into the sky to make a white chalk line of cloud trailing behind a gray airplane. of course, the plane wasn’t there anymore. but the sun rained onto the windows of the bus and lit up the dried stains of tears that made funny pictures in the light. they were at once bulging eyes, faces of dogs, crooked lines. the men were talking loudly and filled my tired ears with the outside world. they spoke so quickly in a language so foreign to me.