Above, Pharrell Williams of The Neptunes and N.E.R.D — a much more fabulous bag lady than the one mentioned below.

So the dance music is blasting so forcefully into my ears that I’m almost certain my $99 v-moda headphones are causing irreversible damage.   The beats continue yet they are still unable to assuage and mask the deranged conversation some lunatic-Slavic woman is seemingly having with herself.

She seems as though she is ready to topple over from the amount of bags she has with her.  She is a bag lady and her bags threaten to consumer her.

She is boisterous and frightening.   Her hair looks like someone decided it would be cute to microwave it on high and then let it simmer in the oven on Regulo 2.  She is frantically screaming at some unseen person who–from the looks and sounds of it–she believes has confused her itinerary.

She is carrying, hoisting, rolling many large bags that would surely scare even a customs officer at an Air Jamaica terminal.   She abandons the bags to quickly run over to a bus timetable to check times.   Appearing to be disappointed by the information she then flies out in front of a bus that had every intent to keep on going but was probably afraid of touching the garish and horribly dry Brillo Pad atop her head.

She steps up into the bus like a mad woman and has a short confab with the driver (probably about a Tickle Me Elmo doll and if trees really grow upside down on Mars).   Seconds later she steps off the bus and reunites with her army of bags (photo).   She crams each over, under her arms and her person and wheels the large one away while screaming back at that invisible person who, like everything else, is proceeding very quickly in her opposite direction.