“Homebound Trolley With a Bag of Goodies”

Rushing to get home.

Away from the maddening crowd.

I am the crowd.

Loud, stinking.

Stuttering action.

You have to get on the Trolley, before you get on the Trolley.

Elbows, and crooks, and backpacks, and fumbling awkward.

Stink eyes, bitter beer faces, clandestine farts.

Soy sauce dreams sailing along.

Vinegar fumes from Conversed feet.

Making good on promises.

The Hobbit hole awaits at Bag End, line’s end.