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.
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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