Today, the weights hang from her cheeks. Today, she spends the day sitting on buses. Hiding in the back corner, she lets the bus trace the north coast of the city, dragging her along. Central, Manly, Narabeen, Newport. The landscapes mean nothing to her, but are merely accompanying images for her disillusioned thoughts; a catalyst, you could call it, for her fugitive memories as she stares blankly into the distance. She shifts her focus from the defined scratches of graffiti on the window, to the hypnotising rush of trees as the bus flies down the road at one hundred kmph.
fug i cant be bothered im gonna do phys. unfinished story is unfinished. comeatme ima lazy cunt.