Pulling at threads

The problem with writing in the morning on the bus – one of the problems with writing in the morning on the bus – is that you end up writing primarily about the morning and the bus. It’s been a week of cool mornings, sunrises the colour of creamsicles, and pleasant morning commutes. Buses arriving with little fanfare or surprise. I think about creativity a lot, how important randomness is, and how boring it is to write about it. You don’t need to hear about the importance of letting your mind wander from me. It’s like describing the colour of a sunrise. You either saw it or you didn’t, describing it is pretentious. On Wednesday the smell of bad breath was overwhelming on the morning bus. At first I thought it was me. IT WASN’T ME THANK GOD. My mind briefly connected the odour to the sunrise I was daydreaming at casually (is this what a sunrise smells like?) before compartmentalizing the two inputs like it should have done in the first place (no, no, of course not it’s what nostalgia…