Perimeter breach

Bus stopped, quiet for a moment,

just the low thrum of the engine.

Then, the man in front of me,

his jaw working, slow and wet.

Open-mouthed.

The sound of chips, or something dry,

breaking apart. Each crackle too loud,

filling the space between my thoughts.

A rhythmic, moist crunching.

Like a small machine, steadily grinding.

Can't look away, can't not hear it.