The Present Future

Inner storms burst out. A side of my body screams against the other side, blaming its passivity, its lack of action. But the pot calls the kettle black and ignores all proof. 
Welcome to the desert of procrastination. In this world, everything is based on the distant Tomorrow. In the now, all we do is wait, hoping we can take next bus, but hooligans have removed the timetable from the bus stop stand, so there is no way of knowing when the next one will come. Luckily, the weather is fairly mild, almost neutral, not hot or cold, not pleasant or unpleasant, so we don't mind to stand still around here. Tomorrow's another day. 
I would welcome a car crashing into me now. On the condition that I survive, though (I know, there's always fineprint...). Out here in the desert, there aren't that many cars though. And even if we do get to see one, it's never a malicious enough one. No pedestrians are killed in the desert, it's the safest place to be. 
It's quiet out here. Too quiet.