funny familiar forgotten feeling

i hate the throngs of people that flock there blindly
sheep looking for a shepard
simply gathering aimessly around a focal point.
the pungent odour of perfume intermingled with sweat fills the air
already overcrowded with their shrill voices screeching in an alien tongue.
parking their bulky selves
positioning their dismal belongings at akward angles
strategically blocking the way.
deaf to the helpless pleas
oblivious to the pathetic me
trying to make my way through.

yes. i hate crowds
i hate town on sundays.