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Bus Story: Chalk and Cheese

January 20, 2016

Everything about him is precise. He sits, tucked into a window seat, with his perfectly polished oxfords equidistant from each other, his feet are flat upon the floor, and his back, ramrod straight. His hands are delicate, pale and perfectly manicured. They rest, folded, on the leather briefcase resting on his lap, with buckles shining in the gray light. Round, gold-rimmed glasses perch on his face which, like his hands, is a study in unblemished, pale, and finely featured. And his hair, a shade this side of blond, is neatly trimmed and has just enough product in it to lay exactly as it should. His world, inasmuch as we see it riding with us on the morning bus, is in perfect order.

Then she climbs aboard at the last stop before downtown. We hear her long before we catch a glimpse of what can only be described as a human tornado. Coughing, laughing, and bellowing a weird sort of “thank you” at the driver all at the same time, she hurls herself down the aisle. Her umbrella almost takes out one passenger, while two of her three bags solidly make “thwump-thwump” noises as they slam into others on her journey. Spying the empty seat next to the delicately arranged man, she flings herself down, her umbrella-as-saber making slight contact with his perfect hair, and mussing it…slightly. Her array of noise, mess, and accouterments assail him at every level, and his world slowly unravels in the presence of this calamitous being.

Chaos Theory is alive and well on the 120 to downtown.

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