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Bus Story: The Unintelligible Bond

December 15, 2011

Rolling through the dark and misty morning, the ole 54 begins filling with riders. I’m running a bit behind my usual schedule, so I don’t see many I recognize except Should Have Stayed Home Guy (who seems a bit better, thanks for asking). At one stop, early on, we are besieged by a squadron, nay a battalion, of young boys. They are 11 or 12 years old, I would guess, and are all at that gawky, skinny stage. Like a pack of Great Dane puppies, they stumble, trip, wheel, and flop until they hit their seats. Words are exchanged, but only in partial sentences, and they often just grunt or mumble and their pack mates understand perfectly. Images on mobile phones are held up, to a chorus of nods and unintelligible comments. We arrive at the mid-point on our journey, where Sullen Teens usually depart and, as one mass of pointy elbows, floppy feet and downcast eyes, they gather their stuff and hurl themselves off the bus and into the gray morning. Take care of each other, my brothers, and keep your pack close. They shall sustain you and share your dreams. And if you are very lucky, you’ll have them in your world when you grow older and they will still understand your mumbling.

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From → Bus Stories

2 Comments
  1. As my mother would say, you do have a way with words. A rider myself, I enjoy every observation.
    The bus is definitely a world of its own, sometimes a strange one, a community in its own way.
    Keep it up . . .

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