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Bus Story: Someone Tell Him That It’s Over

April 7, 2010

With Lady Gaga knocking about in the earphones, it’s a chilly morning with equal promises of sunshine or rain.  The bus, a non-articulated beastie, starts filling up rapidly.  Before he’s lost in the crowd, I notice someone behind a newspaper.  Y’know, reading a paper the way people used to on the bus or train, opened wide, shielding their entire head and upper torso from view.  So I only glimpse him briefly, as he brings the paper together to turn the page.  I double-take and wait for the next page turn to be sure what I have seen.  Yup.  He’s in a jacket that surely has been on the receiving end of military action, and is faded into an amalgam of soldier’s coats through the ages.  His skin is ashen and his eyes are looking but not seeing; he reads but it doesn’t seem to register in his face.  He has a beard that looks like a large scruffy rodent has just camped out on his jaw.  His battered hat is pure Civil War reproduction. Or is it?  I think the wandering spirit of that horrible conflict has found his way west and is riding the ole 54.  Perhaps when he finishes his paper, someone could whisper quietly to him that his brothers are waiting for him and he doesn’t have to roam the country any longer.  Be at peace, spirit, and let that nice lady have your seat.


From → Bus Stories

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