It's early morning. You're sitting in the bus. There are two white lines falling so carelessly from your ears for the band that's playing inside your head. It's early morning. People are talking, trading facts sworn to secrecy. It's early morning. You're in a bus. You can't fall asleep, you'll miss your stop. You're bored. It's early morning.

This is what I do.

You can't read lips. It's one of those things you've always wanted to learn but did nothing about. What you can see, with the class act performing between your ears, is their mouths shutting and opening like goldfish in a bowl.

This is what I imagine.

You put the lyrics of the song you're listening to into their mouth.



Go on.

Try it.

What you get is an old man saying lovingly to his dear wife, "Mama, we're all gonna die! Mama, we're meant for the flies! Stop asking me questions I hate to see you cry. Mama, we're all gonna die!"

See the lady conductor arguing with a commuter in Bob Tutupoly's voice, "Hello dear, what can I do for you?"
And the burly commuter, replying through his nose, "Will you go and swing along tonight?"

The boy looking at the general direction of a girl and this song plays, "I can't live.... If living is without you..." and instantly that blank look seems to be a longing of a desperate heart.

This doesn't enrich your soul or anything. It's just good ol' clean fun.