Bus Station Synectics

[RoughWriters]

Here we wrote a description of a Bus Station, then took our descriptive words, combined them and then voted on our favorites.

Here are our word combinations:

Razor wire shanties
Slap in the face pink
Dark green haze


And below are our second write ups about a Bus Station using those words:

[Scott]

The iniquitous bus stop moaned in the darkness. Six months ago, the city had begun to clean up the streets and behind this stop stood the razor-wire shanties of the homeless. The graffiti-poster hung in the corner, advertising their imprisonment with slap in the face pink lettering. They thought the homeless would be happier getting off at the dilapidated station if it seemed welcoming. The whole camp was shrouded in a dark green haze of bodies. The smell corrupted the concrete and they'd begun to crumble. President Olanda had decreed that the streets should be empty and free for all to travel. Unfortunately, this meant the money she'd spent on creating these home camps forced more people into them.

[Edward Cheever]

Write Up 1:

The soiled white tiles of the bus station floor were sticky under the shoes of the forlorn passengers waiting their ride on the busses. Daylight beamed down through the small windows near the tops of the walls, where a leafy tree top could just be seen, taunting the people with the thought of a better world outside these plaster walls.

Old crumbling benches were covered with a woven fabric that once might have reminded the passengers of something other than burlap, but this was not so now. They had been the victims of one too many foul seats themselves. Beside them stood a rack of yellowed maps and travel guides, the newest of which dated back ten years, and that particular amusement, a wax museum and arcade combination of ill repute, had been shut down five years ago.

The jaded Ticketmaster behind the counter handed out pink tickets in a drawling voice.



Write Up 2:

The bus station was like something out of a clown’s nightmare. The tilt was obvious, one side of the building being five feet higher than the other. No doubt the foundation had been poorly built, dooming the building to a slow decline into the very pit of Tartarus one day. But alas, the bus station’s last ticket had not yet come.

Once you got past the crumbling cement wall, riddled with bullet holes and tired jaded graffiti, it was a field of nothing but razor wire shanties from the wall to the station. Each of them painted a bright and hideous slap in the face pink color. Hungry eyes stared out of grimy shadows, watching all passengers walk to and from the station, as predators in the wild. But these predators never leaped, for the bait was usually even worse off.

The station itself had been painted many years ago a bright yellow, but the manager had a love of olive green, so he tried to have it repainted. This might not have been so bad, but he had been a notorious penny-pincher who hired a discount painter, so the yellow paint showed through the runny olive mess, beneath the grim of years and smog.

Inside the station itself was yet another layer of public transportation hell, as a strange dark green haze hung over the lobby. The brown tiles had once been white, or so legend went amongst the inhabitants shanties. The front desk was large and perfectly rectangular, made from some variety of industrial steel borrowed from an out of business mill.

[tiffany]

The din of about a dozen large buses echoed off the cement walls of the nearby bus station. A crowd had gathered outside the small edifice, awaiting the arrival of their transport to who-knows-where, and their low chatter added a distant grumble to the roaring of heavy engines and squealing brakes. The sky was overcast, adding a hazy grey tint to the otherwise pale walls of the bus station, reflecting off the dingy glass doors of the station and puddles of oil-stained water in the parking lot outside it. Every now and again the gathering of passengers cast their eyes toward what had once been an old cornfield that spread out to one side of the bus station. No longer did tall, noble stalks of corn grow there. Instead, there had arisen something else: something strange and haunting. From where they stood they could see small structures, razor-wire shanties to be exact. The sharp metal strands had been strung as tight as a bow-string, horizontally and vertically, and spray-painted over with a slap-in-the-face pink that would have made a person’s eyes ache from a mile away if it weren’t for the dark green haze that cloaked the place. What the collection of razor-wire shanties was for, and what the dark green haze could be for that matter, was up for debate. Yet, one thing was certain: it couldn’t be good.

[betanine]

Nothing could have prepared Karen for the dark green haze that would greet her first visit to the bus station. Along with the razor wire shanties, she was not sure if she had remembered to breathe over the last five minutes. The cab pulled up outside the well-lit exterior and she dashed inside, holding her nose against the stew of rotting trashcans and diesel fumes.

The inside of the bus station was hardly better. The slap in the face pink seats against radioactive green walls was enough to induce vomiting. Winding her way to the ticket counter, she avoided making eye contact with any of the pathetic souls who lounged on what used to be sleeping bags. A woman with a cigarette stained voice asked for any spare change. If she had spare change, she wouldn’t be at the bus station, that’s for sure! The lethargic ticket agent gave her the “what do you want” look, waiting for her to begin the conversation.

“One ticket to Nashville, please.” Karen tried to will the woman to hurry.

“Nashville, huh? You want to be a country singer or something? I don’t know if you’re pretty enough for it.”

[leiselswan]

As I neared the end of the downward stairs, I was at once taken aback by a most horrid stench that burned my eyes and caused my nose hairs to curl back in disgust. I quickly yanked out my handkerchief from my back pocket and covered my face, adjusting my thin moon-shaped glasses that sat perched on my pointed nose. The bus station was empty, dimly lit, a sort of hidden underground tunnel. There was a dark green haze that was floating above, though I wasn’t quite sure where it was coming from, nor did I really want to know. There were homeless people stationed here and there, some sleeping on worn patched blankets under razor wire shanties. Trash was thrown about everywhere. Rust and mold climbed up the sides of the wall. The paved ground was like a slap in the face pink, a color I could care less about, though little homeless children skipped about it in a joyous manner, drawing pictures of the outside world, what they envisioned paradise to be. Perhaps these people have never been outdoors, perhaps this was their home. All this, I saw. There was no bus in sight.

[This was really fun, though very challenging since I've never done anything like this before. I'm one of those that has to sit down, stare, and think for a while--which can last for up to an hour sometimes--before my imagination begins to kick in. Great fun! I did happen to be late to my 6:00 pm class, even though I ran, but that's okay! I needed to get in some cardio for the day anyway.]

^_^<b

[Sarah]

Write Up 1:

The noise reaches me first; loud: people laughing, crying, and angry. Then the smells reach me next. Perfume, sweat, and even smelly diapers reach my nostrils. The tall white concrete ceilings with marble pillars reaching from floor to ceiling dot the main area. There are large sky lights that allow light to fill the room. I notice that there are soft couches lined against one wall. They are black leather and look plush and comfortable. There are also hard chairs; with low backs and metal bars connecting them. You hear the sound of the clock dinging every half hour with it dinging 16 times because it is four o’clock in the afternoon. The place seems light. The floors are a light cream, with dark green streaked lightly through it. The marble is white and cream and blinds me as the sun hits it. The ceiling is also cream as are the walls. Creamed concrete, this sounds like a disgusting kind of soup. I wonder how much longer until I have to leave all this obnoxious grandeur behind. I hear the ding-dong of the tall white clock behind me as it says it is now 4:30. Time to go.


Write Up 2:

The bus station is my least favorite place. I don’t know if it is the smells or the fact it is painted in slap in the face pink. I call it that because it is hot pink and it slaps my face every time I have to see it. Ugh! The noise is surprisingly silent, but then again due to the razor wire shanties here, many don’t come to the bust station any more. I’m surprised I do with its lime green chairs and electric orange floor. I feel like I’ve walked into somebody’s scary excuse of an imagination. I shudder to think what else they could have come up with. Oh no, people are running towards me, I’m glad I have my gas mask. I still haven’t figure out what is in the dark green haze that occasionally sweeps through the station. I personally don’t want to find out. It knocks people out at least and since I need to go home, getting knocked out is not on my list of things to do. The haze has passed, but I keep my gas mask on. I don’t care how silly I look with it on, better to look silly and be alive then be dead. I walk around since I have been sitting most of the day. I study the people as the rush by attempting not to trip on the bodies that are strewn on the floor. All the sudden I hear sirens. Wow, I muse to myself they keep getting here faster and faster. It only took them 25 minutes this time. The emergency personnel rush to the bodies. Some have expired, thankfully not long enough to create any type of stench, but if they did, my gas mask would protect me. The emergency workers wave at me. They are used to seeing me there with my mask on. They have even started coming in with light masks. I think they might be starting to learn. I just wish they would find out what the haze was and do something about it. It’s rather bothersome to have to make sure not to step on the bodies. They are always in my way. Well my bus has arrived. I look forward to leaving. Ugh a body right in my way. The twisted shape of it causes me look closer. I gasp in surprise.