Bus Story: Vat Seems to be Ze Problem?

The universe is trying to tell me something today. It’s a chilly, gray morning with a bite in the air one doesn’t usually associate with late May. On the bus, two men and one woman are wearing newsboy caps. A very tall, well-heeled woman just went by decked out like an early 70’s air hostess, complete with neckerchief and hair piled high atop her head. A small boy at the front of the bus is rapidly vacillating between shouts of joy and shrieks of Perceived Eternal Torment. And I can smell the pastrami sandwich in my bag, despite it being wrapped in paper towel, then in a sealed plastic bag, and inside my backpack. Like an ancient augury, I think I need some help putting these clues together. Then, lo and behold, our last passenger before we head downtown is a dark-eyed, heavily bearded older gent, with a long coat and I know I smell the rich scent of pipe tobacco as he passes (even over the pastrami). Perhaps the shade of Dr. Freud can help out. It’s not exactly a dreamscape, but maybe he can work with it.