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Bus Story: Dunk Tank

February 21, 2013

I hopped on the shiny silver and red “C” line bus this morning and, because I have been so long absent, was unsure of what I might find. Or who. I cast about for familiar faces and, despite the crowd, everyone is new to me. Almost immediately, my attention is drawn to one of these new faces. He’s probably in his middle thirties and appears to be soaking wet. Think drowned rat in slacks and a button-down shirt. It isn’t raining right now, although it is in the forecast. No one else is even damp. And he looks like he took a shower fully dressed and stepped from that onto the bus. His expression is one of astonishment, etched into his features. Then I see it. A heavy, leather-bound book, worn with age, peeking out of his satchel. I’m surprised no one told him: if you don’t read the whole spell over first, and you pause partway, you might get a quick dip in the Waters of Trepidation instead of conjuring a rain-protection shield as you intended.


From → Bus Stories

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