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Bus Story: The Ruling Party

January 25, 2014

A serviceable wool coat wraps her in a chrysalis of gray. Wisps of hair, the color of a well-used filing cabinet, dangle from under a hat that once might have served as an oven mitt. Her eyes, taken from the pages of a Pushkin novel, rarely leave the view of the street through the front windscreen. As the coach fills, she is intractable and immovable from her forward viewing spot, despite the fact that people have to push past her to get to open seats or standing room. With a mutter and a nod, she takes each jostle and each glare in stride, with the air of someone who has no doubts about where they are meant to be. Her confident stance is shaken by the arrival of a very tall person, towering above her. They are tall in stature, decked out in spandex and a sequin fringed frock coat, along with 5 inch heels and resplendent auburn hair that could double as a cell reception tower. Magnificently, the newcomer peers down at the Gray Woman who is blocking the path, batts massive eyelashes and shifts weight to the left side, hip thrust out, hands waving in exasperation. A deeper than expected voice emerges from the coral painted lips, saying something to the Gray Woman, and she folds herself to the side and allows the sparkling giant to pass. It’s a lesson we all learn, comrade sister. Make way for the Drag Queens. They rule.


From → Bus Stories

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