Every time I take a bus to any neighborhood, there's always someone eating a crotch or a pastel in a brown paper bag with a wet grease stain. The person opens the bag, pulls the salt a little out, takes a bite, passes his tongue between his lips to remove the bran, sticks the salty back in the bag and starts chewing, covering his mouth with one hand. All this with a curved posture, almost hunchback, and a suspicious look at the sides, as if he were eating in hiding, afraid someone would ask for a piece. I wouldn't be. I wouldn't even take it if you offered. But just out of selfishness, I keep wishing you had a lot of heartburn.
I don't think everyone stops to think more coolly about the details the way they should. In addition to the bus not being the most suitable place to make a snack, because of the huge amount of people who put their hands on the same place as you, people of doubtful hygiene, for example, it cannot be forgotten that you took the money to pay for the salty and the ticket. What hand did you hold here and there? Which one took the money? Which one will hold the fat sack? Which one will pull and shove the salty back in the bag?
When I see someone eating in that place, it all goes through my head and my stomach is already wrapped. If you're hungry, I lose my appetite on time. But not her! She's there, with that dirty hand, enticing herself with that salty as if he were the most delicious meal in the world, so hot that she chews, chews, chews and never swallows. Most of the time it takes about 10 minutes to take another bite. Always dropping a lot of bran on the blouse that, if it is wool, which is the one that grabs the most, ends up becoming a Christmas tree of pastel cones, pieces of ground meat, chicken fiaps, among other “enfectures”.
But the worst of all is the person being selfish. Although she is eating a greasy, dirty, babbling snack, she thinks that all the other passengers on the bus are starving to death that she cannot wait to get to her destination to eat something and covet her salt as if it were the last food available on the face of the Earth. Every time the bus stops at a point, it seems to be written on her face: “less than one” or “less than two”.
There comes a time when, by being satisfied, or by being too afraid to share, the person simply stops eating, keeps the rest in the bag, folds it several times and keeps it inside a bag or backpack to finish later. What happens next, I'll never know. I always come down first.
