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Bus Story: The Eyes are Windows…Which Isn’t Always A Good Thing

May 14, 2013

A temperate early summer’s morning finds the “C” line bustling. One young gent loped up and back along the aisle as if in training for the running long-jump. Another stands, holding on to a strap, while a gallon jug of water strapped to his backpack threatens to brain the seated riders near him. Somehow, amidst them all, one seated passenger stands out. His curly black hair is streaked with white, from the crown of his head to the tip of a resplendent, albeit tangled beard. He is in all black, save for a silver pendant that has some intricate enamel work in bright blues and reds. He stares, unblinking, around the bus. His face is a study in distaste and condescension. His gaze reaches me, and his eyes cause me to flinch, as if stung, and look away quickly. They are dark, piercing and full of madness. He seems to be muttering to himself as well. And then, as an icy dread grips my heart, I know who he is. They say he is immortal, or that he roams the earth, but is as dead as a werewolf shot with a silver bullet. All I know is that the Mad Monk, Rasputin, is on our bus. Maybe the guy with the jug of water will bonk him on the head and we can all escape out the rear doors.

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From → Bus Stories

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