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Boat Story: Water Log

May 22, 2012

The rain came down all day in a temperate, bath-water leaking from the apartment upstairs sort of way. Galumphing in from the drizzle, a man hurls his lanky frame into a seat with a resounding kraaacckk! He is nothing but spindly arms and legs and with no padding and his landing sounds like a piece of furniture being tossed out of a second story window. His stringy, reddish blond hair is plastered to his round head, and his eyes are a washed out, watery blue. He checks his satchel again and again, reassuring himself of its contents. There is a vaguely aquatic sensibility to him. He breathes as if it is a new sensation and his eyes don’t quite focus properly. I knew I would meet different folks on the water taxi than on the ole 54, but I didn’t expect to run into one of Poseidon’s couriers on the trip downtown.


From → Not Bus Stories

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