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Bus Story: Friday Night Fights

July 23, 2011

Friday. Quarter to Cocktails. Callas on Pandora. The music orbits around my head and, like a thousand delightfully accurate paintballs filled with a cool, orange-blossom scented breeze, the process of de-stressing my brain begins. As I look around, the bus has a couple of interesting, heretofore unnoticed riders. One is a gent in all red and black. Black jeans, blood red shirt, bald head, goatee, and shiny, intense red and black sunglasses. He’s maniacally working his Blackberry, almost snarling as his thumbs fly around the little device. Watching his every move is a woman who may be on her way to a costume party (unlikely) or she is just a frugal superhero. Shocking white hair, sparkly headband pulling it back into a grand pony-tail, she sports what must be a silver lame shirt dress, belted with a belt she could only have stolen from a world class cage fighter. Massive thigh-high boots complete the look, and she does not like what the dude in red and black is doing. I can see a confrontation a’brewin – gotta depart before The Silver Stomper makes a move to stop Mister Diablo from executing his cunning plan to steal our memories using games with avian catapults.

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From → Bus Stories

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