In the Tube, in Paris, a silly fool with a hat is talking aloud on the platform (about Africa, that’s all I got), then in the carriage too, wax lyrical and boring. You couldn’t escape the sound, but his lecture was incoherent… Everybody was trying to ignore him (blahh blahh blahh), and I think they succeeded pretty well.
In the train. Fast, modern, quiet. People are silent, or whispering, they read or they touch their smartphone. Four young people, three girls and a guy, in a square four-seats nearby. One of them is the Fashion-Female-Blogger Type. You KNOW that Type, right? 25, successful, brilliant, wears “these” spectacles, red lips. She talks endlessly, has a strong opinion on everything, she is very VERY happy to be herself. She talks fast, happily, smartly, loudly to the three others (her court, right?). She immensely bores 75 persons around her too. The whole car!
My family story has been a bit complicated these last years, and I hadn’t been on a beach since… 2011. But, well, I stood on a bath towel last week, for two hours. The idea was great : the sand, the waves lapping, the sun, walking in the water…
The type who appeared very near here is the Parisian sixty something. Sunglasses and a phone. She seems worried, busy, in quite a hurry (though her heavy proud arse was squashing the sand), giving instructions in the phone, telling loudly that somebody knows nothing and she has to do alllll the job and fix everybody’s incompetent mistakes. Annoying 53 persons around. For half an hour (at least : I gave up and ran away).
In a train, back home. An 35 like Italian guy is arguing the Italian way with his wife (of mother). A little bit like in a movie, with a drawling I don’t care I’m Italian I’m sleepy I need a drink tone. “Si, si…”. In the phone, through the tiny loudspeaker, I could hear her, she was SCREAMING (the furious mamma Italian way, of course). He didn’t care at all. Hung up. She recalled immediately, yelling fastly like a furia diva). Happily, he wasn’t around her : he would have felt the wind of the plates flying towards his head). Vzzz!
Sigh. What’s the point, here? Lack of empathy. That’s all. Logorrhea sounds diarrhea, and she’s a cousin, for sure… People talk crap a lot, but when I’m around, they should shut up, voilà! Or I need an island. Or my room. Or a decrapper (which basically could be a cork).
What is that paradox? People logorrhea-monolog in every ear they find, but they’re incapable of weaving a real conversation – which is something else. Oui?
I dreamed I smashed the tube black man, on the hat, poof, here’s to you. I dreamed I spit in miss – “today here’s my crap daily beauty routine” – fashion’s glasses, spflurt. I dreamed I smacked pif paf miss Beach-Bitch’s greasy nose, took her phone and her dentures and throw them into the sea in a big laugh (then I run). OK, I forgive Mario, whatever moron he is. I liked Mario. He didn’t care… and he couldn’t escape the furious voice…
Hm. I have logorrhea too, as it seems…
It had to go out. I’m sorry.
Thanks for reading!