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Bus Story: Une Triste Histoire

February 9, 2010

I climb aboard to a cacophony of cell phone chatter: a bleached blonde is nattering on and on about her home buying and boyfriend issues and a giggling 30-something woman who thinks she is endearing rather than truly obnoxious. Then a different sound reaches my ears. The source is a tall, very thin man talking to the woman next to him. He speaks slowly, with a very thick French accent. Even through the hyperbolic exclamations of the Shrieking Others, his voice is both soothing and rather heartbreaking. I can’t make out what he’s saying, but the sympathetic nods from his companion brings an air of sadness to his words. Jacques Brel is alive and well and riding the ole 54.

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