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Bus Story: Overloaded

November 9, 2013

With the rollicking strains of an Irish fiddle tune knocking about my ears, the shiny red “C” line coach carries an odd late morning gaggle of riders into downtown. There is a dozing gent, with his head resting, not on the woman next to him, but on the monkey puppet she has propped up between them. Yup. Monkey puppet. A bewildered man with the air of an executive-on-holiday vacillates between two choices of seats, and, once seated, appears to be waging an internal war over how often he pulls his phone out to check his email. Each time he does, he mutters to himself and, I think if he were not in public, he would slap his own hand. Lastly, drawing at least as much attention, a paunchy fellow perches at the very back of the bus. His coat is a drab green corduroy and is only slightly more colorful than his mud-colored trousers. But his hair is blue. Royal bright as a new box of crayons blue. It sweeps upward towards the back, accentuating the extraordinary forward thrust of his nose, mouth, and chin. If the image wasn’t avian enough, as the bus swerves and jolts, he tilts his head sideways, this way and the other, and lets out small, distressed squawking sounds. If I didn’t know better, I would think the Universe is trying to tell me something. It may take tea leaves and an augury to figure this lot out.

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From → Bus Stories

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