I want candy

I was walking towards the bus stop. I had decided for a new route and while this new-old routine paved the way for what am about to detail what made it special was a series of incidents, curious ones at that. I had left work a bit too early to rush downhill as I usually do. I tend to time the time I take to make it just in time with a few minutes to spare while the bus arrives from its departure point to my spot. So I ventured on a different venue risking somewhat the time space I usually have for this daily chore. On my way I recall being hesitant about an idea that was lurking behind my head and persisted in convincing me to go to some After Work event. This rather insistent idea was no doubt brought upon a news advertisement I had earlier seen in the morning paper where said organized venues for debauchery of these sorts are held. Mind you, not that I don’t myself engage in the pleasures of Bacus but I often tend to resist the mingling that accompanies said public displays of ethylic atmospheres preferring instead to do so before the written word. Either way, like always, I can never convince myself to go or I can never muster enough gull to venture in a pub to drink a few good old beers in company of others.

I felt thirsty and I stopped at the local kiosk, as they are called here in Sweden, to purchase something to quench my thirst. These sort of huts serve as the local junk food provider for the vicinities as they too tend to sell all kinds of disturbing media for my mexican catholic eyes as well as the local gossip yellow press. I stopped to form a queue and while I was awaiting my turn to buy my pop soda a small boy was buying candy. Now, I only have so much time to play around with so I couldn’t help but feel stressed at the little boy’s patience as he decided with intense interest over the candy he wanted to buy. For a moment I just stared at the boy and looked upon the clerk who tended the boy’s taste and choice of candy erstwhile the child verbally pointed out to the clerk what he wanted. It seems to me that he must of have named like fifteen different sorts of candies all by their name before I finally heard that there was but 50 í¶re left in the purchasing thus calming my impatience somewhat. This made me reminisce if I ever also once long ago knew the names of my candies.

I even entertained the thought that I perhaps felt somewhat jealous at this ability to name candy by its name. I bought my soda and went along but I can’t seem to forget this incident, however weird it was, and yes, I made the bus too.