Brazil, Life events

Four eyes

06/02/2017
https://www.flickr.com/photos/zolivier/3152364898/in/photolist-5NyGfW-dMwuGy-dvJT3z-dvgzXq-pnW8v4-4xtzDN-dqTN9-ixYGKX-5Ljwox-9XVYY-8hUa45-m2o6Fe-9VGp2e-64dqoa-4Z8WNx-48RzZX-4oAthq-63FdRk-8EZ4yD-5BYF3D-61TvdC-9HuPCb-9HuNMU-dP4XS9-4nN1Q6-cEwn1-9HrXB6-5AMVjP-7qwwLs-8W1Vvv-bnUfLU-7TBg94-6DTbiV-6stijn-bnUg9W-9wqCGN-AZHEa-hKuLXQ-8seTBY-nWyKjp-dexXUZ-4pkqUt-6Z3VRr-HBCW7-9HrX8t-cztBeJ-5G1fka-CDN877-CpjXjv-tzbZYW

On my pile of paper, I found a storie that I wrote in 2003, when I wasn’t even thinking about being a writer. I read it again and thought it has some sense of humour so I would like to share it with you.

Four eyes

After leaving the ophthalmologist appointment, I went to the bus stop. With my dilated pupils, I thought: how am I going to get myself back home? I can’t see the name or number of the bus.
Beside me were two men in their 60s. I had no other option so I asked for help.

“Please, can you let me know when the bus to Santana arrives?”
They nodded but I notice that my question was a bit odd.
A few minutes later, one of them told me:
“Girl, your bus is coming.”
I said thanks and held my arm out to signal to the driver. The bus door opened, I went up the first step and heard the two gentlemen talking about me:
“Poor thing, so young and can’t read.”

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