The number 14

Bad behaviour holds good people hostage. The old couple at the front sit closer together, backs still straight but wanting anxiously to shrink into their seats if only this movement would not attract the attention of the raging youth. They think of the good old days where one drank Pimms in moderation, where gallantry was appreciated, where dances were a treat. A girl with a long, silky ponytail looks at her watch and she sighs. She thinks of her eight o’clock shift in the morning and how she wants to get home sometime this millennia. Her blood is boiling slightly but her courage is dulled from reading terribly written newspaper articles. Even though the bus is not in South Auckland, no one wants to get knifed. I turn up my ipod to hide the escalating sounds of confrontation and try to think of nothing at all. All we want is to be ignored.