Where people really think (With reading down by windy lake)

Taken from, The Moon Soul of Lake Michigan, an upcoming book by Andrew H. Kuharevicz

Where people really think

The passengers;
The real Americans  they just want to go home, and for most of these people they don’t have a clue where home is anymore. They’re just going somewhere, and who knows where the spot will be, probably some new city, and who knows, but oh how they go, and why, why do they go in the rain in the fog in dirty clothes and hardly any kind of that traditional american cultivated hope?

The bus hoppers like grass hoppers of american thinkers;
these people, the bleeding truth of the real Americans  they go, they think, they think and go-go-think and go, because they still love life and want to smile once again, on their own free people’s accord, eating pumpkin pie and playing trivial pursuit without forcing feelings that aren’t there just yet.

The passengers;
the real Americans, with shoes in wet grass listening to the unnecessary nature of american politicians, the real Americans say, “I know a better way”, sometimes, often, and tired, so tired, just shaking their heads.

These age-old thinkers and lovers of wisdom;
these american concepts are the real human teachers, and they believe in love more than most people even realize. Born with blues and bright eyes.
Born within the windy days of the winter freeze.

And man oh man;
and it aint easy to be in a hurry and have to wait at the same time. You think people think a ton in church, in confessionals, in the voting booth or on the toilet? You think you know who knows what?

The passengers;
these alto sax and piano players with chess boards in backpack; these people with all these existential rumblings that shape-up, form, and then… incinerated, gone….born again with thoughts, plans, contingencies of what could be the future. All of these thinking grass-hopping raps and practice rehearsals are destroyed as the preacher is giving a sermon, as the office worker is daydreaming with eyes closed aimlessly clicking, thoughts of something, gone, consumed, by the dreamers control.

Location. Location. American Location. So many locations and so many places;
there are so many places where you can observe the american human creature thinking up a whole storm of thoughts. And where is where? the mass of students say…

Where?
A bus stop, a check-out line, as you’re looking through the other cars window, stopped at a street sign, hot out of the shower for the morning drive to the nine to five. There. There. Everywhere.

Thinking thoughts of thoughts made out of our thoughts; thoughts that are thinking at a busy bus terminal where there’s more thinking going on inside of the american digestion track than by any single group of people anywhere that I’ve ever been in my whole damn life.

In your city, away from my town, waiting for the bus;
that’s where people really think.

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