FROM LAST ONE TO DIE:
I’ve written about my lovely experiences while riding the bus to and from work in the past.
In my younger years, it seemed like more of an adventure. I would, occasionally, meet new people, have some interesting conversations. In general, just pass the time. Nowadays, and maybe it’s me that’s changed, but I see some people that I recognize, and we politely nod, but the conversation is non-existent.
For the most part, everyone seems like they’re packed into a cattle car en route to the slaughterhouse. No eye contact, no talking, the same four or five upper-middle aged Hispanic men crammed in the back briskly drinking their 40 ounces trying to forget what transpired on that very day.
When I was a younger, slimmer guy, a bunch of us would take the bus to a friend’s house, and it was fun. We’d be laughing, talking; probably bugging the shit out of the older people on the bus, now twenty-five plus years later I’m watching the final death rattle of ninety percent of the people on the bus. I almost welcome the tough-guy “gangsta” threats of the young Cholos. It breaks up the monotony of the ride.
This is why I have to tell you (the reader) about an episode that happened about a week ago. I’m off of work, and I hopped onto the second of two buses that get me home every night. It’s about 5:20, 5:30, and I’m playing with my “smart” phone, plugging in my earbuds, listening to music, texting, returning calls, all the while maintaining an all-star game of solitaire. Impressed yet?
I do all of this to block out the above-mentioned malnourished, dying Bovine. The texting, music, and game help me zone out. Anyway, this particular weeknight, I’m in my own little world, when I just barely hear over my music a rustling of someone getting out of his or her seat and moving around. You ignore it, it’s like living near a freeway, after a while, you don’t hear the cars anymore.
Anyway, I ignore the rustling, and what felt like a rock in my back, I get punched from behind.
I jump up, and the only response I can muster is, “What the fuck?” And I see a scraggly homeless guy run down the aisle of the bus, I start towards him, and he spins around, and points at me, and yells “You’re gonna die!”
Here’s my dilemma, if he was “normal” I would have had no problem whipping his ass, but I guarantee he forgot what happened 30 seconds after getting off that bus. Hell, for all I know, he thought he punched Godzilla.
So, after his outburst, he ran off the bus. And the rest of the bus ride home the bus was dead quiet. Even the fattest of cattle are unnerved by insanity.