Ordinary language is all right.
One could divide humanity into two classes:
those who master a metaphor, and those who hold by a formula.
Those with a bent for both are too few, they do not comprise a class.
Tuesday morning, the bus driver turned on Front and Chatsworth, drove a few blocks further, and then turned around, saying, 'this is the way we used to go—auto-pilot!'.
"A sick philosopher is incurable."
"Because he has no confidence."
'Henry's mind grew blacker the more he thought.'
My dime got stuck in the pop machine. I banged on the coin slot to no avail; then I blew into the slot, and the dime dropped into the machine.
I saw Nina Nastasia and Jim White at the 400 Bar tonight. I am completely broke and regret nothing.
A boy with an asymmetrical haircut and his girlfriend got on the bus tonight, and got off several stops later, she grabbing his falling pants by the belt as they walked down the aisle, holding them up.
'... if one may be allowed to hope where one does not know...'
On the watch list: people on the bus who switch seats more than once in the same trip for no discernable reason.
I had never before noticed that the stooped, slow, trenchcoated old man who boards the bus on Front pays the fare by emptying change from a pill bottle which he then puts in his pocket.