Monday, March 20, 2006

get on the bus, gus

This is part two to part one of who knows how many parts of whatever this is to be...

The loud diesel engine of the bus announces its arrival blocks ahead of time. It pulls up to the stop, creaking and rumbling, and the doors open allowing the cool air-conditioned air to combine with the hot air of the outside. Three steps up, the driver seems impatient. A baby is crying. I drop one quarter into the fare box.

Clink...

I look around and see that the bus is mostly full, and see a mother trying desperately to rock her crying baby to comfort. A man with a scrape on his forehead looks up from a seat at the front of the bus. I drop a second quarter into the fare box.

Clink-click/whirr...

The man with the scraped forhead proceeds to do a farmer's blow, snotting all over the floor next to me. The driver tells him to get the fuck off the bus. He grunts. I look around, sniff the putrid cool air, and give up, turn to leave. I save my last dollar and decide to walk to the river. I light another cigarette and start my walk. I'm interrupted by the snot-nosed scruffy man from the bus asking me for a smoke. I hand him one and realize that my last dollar is as good as spent: I'm going to need to get a pouch of rolling tobacco, and soon.