| THIS IS A READ-ONLY ARCHIVE FROM THE SORABJI.COM MESSAGE BOARDS (1995-2016). |
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he looked to be around 40, on the small side, wearing a shimmering blue shirt several sizes too large and pale cloth pants. he had a backpack and a stack of papers with him that he threw on the ground and started screaming something unintelligable at the guards. they laughed at him. i got the impression that this was just another side show for them that happened every day. the man seemed to calm down, and one of the guards picked up his backpack and papers and handed them to him. then the three of them started walking off the bus station grounds. the man walked in a stiff, almost robotic way and twitched a lot. i couldn't quite tell if he was on drugs or had a condition or both. the man passed by me and looked at me looking angry and sad. i nodded my head to him. they got him over to the sidewalk to have him cross to the other side of jones st. instead, he stood in the middle of the street and started yelling at them again. i still had a hard time making out what he was saying. the guards still laughed at him. the man reached down to his ankles, and one of the guards said, "get your hands away from your ankles, now!" this time i could hear the man say, "i ain't got nothing hidden on me! i ain't got shit!" then he pulled up his baggy pants legs from his thighs, exposing two incredibly thin legs with incredible big ball-shaped thighs; they looked like turkey drumsticks. he said, "see, nothing!" and danced around in the street. by this time, a few more people had gathered on the sidewalk and were laughing at him. he let his pants legs drop and stood still in the street again. then he took out a white handkerchief or something and wrapped his right hand with it. he made a fist, held it over his head, and yelled over to the guards: "right here! right now! come on! you wanna mess with me? come on!" the guards laughed at him and turned to walk off. i don't if he had it with him all along, but the man suddenly threw a glass bottle at the guards; it shattered on the edge of the sidewalk and didn't come close to anybody. one guard turned around and walked toward him saying, "hey! none of that, now!" he got up close to the man and talked to him quietly, then he put his arm over his shoulder and started moving him to the other side of jones. the other two guards followed him, and the all walked him down the sidewalked and turned west up 9th street, disappearing from my view. by now it was time to go catch my bus. |
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In other news, we got a new couch today, and DAMN is it ever the picture of comfort. |
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by the way, i wrote "thighs" when i meant "calves" in that story. |
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There is some sort of home for men about twelve blocks from my house. It's on my bus route, so I frequently get interesting men riding the bus with me. Lately, there has been a regularly riding gentleman who appears to have suffered brain damage at some point. He always travels with a worker guy who helps said gentleman get about his business. Gentleman talks a lot, and repeats himself over and over in a voice that sounds like Screamin' Jay Hawkins or Little Richard. He generally says about six things with some variation depending on the circumstances of the ride: "GOIN HOME!" "GOIN ON THE BUS!" "I'M GONNA GET SOME MONNAYYY!" "GOIN DOWNTOWN!" "GOIN DOWNTOWN TOMORROW? MAYBE!" (this one is brought on by the fact that he asks his counselor if they are going downtown tomorrow, and the counselor dutifully answers "maybe," or "we'll see." Every time. Very patiently.) "OKAAAYYY." (an alternate answer to the previous question) He punctuates his comments with bursts of hysterical laughter, which I can't even begin to describe in words. I really love riding the bus with this guy. Cleo gets embarrassed when we ride the bus together and I sit behind him because I smile and laugh for the duration of the ride. |
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I find this people strange. |
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Sometimes a fellow i see he write a sentence it almost make no sense. I find this people strange. |
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i took a bus from detroit to new orleans with my mom and a prisoner was escorted on to the bus. he had really long finger nails but we weren't allowed to talk to him. my friend just started working with people who need counselors with them all the time, he should have some good stories, he pretty much lives for this stuff [i think that he liked to spend time with me for the same reason.] |
The last long bus ride I took was from San Miguel De Allende to Mexico City, a few years ago. It was a tour-style bus, with leg rests for the seats. They played "Little Nicky" with Spanish subtitles on the little tvs. |
did i ever tell the story about the time the bus i was on caught fire? not as exciting as it sounds, but not something that happens every day. |
I catch the bus nearly every day. Nothing exciting happens, my highlight is how the emo kids have done their makeup today. Christchurch now links up into this one big bus exchange with a couple of different areas to catch buses from and last week I watched some dodgy-trailer trash couple have an arguement over a can of coke or something. I had the urge to tell the chick that she could do way better than the k-fed wannabe she goes home with every night, but who wants to get invovled with that. I see them nearly every day (they don't catch my bus). They alternate between needing to get a room STAT, and fighting about stupid shit. |
Is there no escape? |
One night I was coming down Dekalb Avenue at Moreland, and I saw a man running kind of slowly up the ramp leading up from Moreland. I was stopped at the light and I watched him... after a minute I saw a fat policeman following him, also running slowly and puffing. They guy in front started taking his clothes off. It was like he either thought taking them off and leaving them behind him would slow the policeman down, or like taking them off was his objective and he was running to get the job done before the policeman caught him. He had the shirt off and the pants half off when the policeman finally caught up with him and pushed him to the ground.. then the light changed Number two was riding a Marta train at night after a concert. There were 2 young teenage girls, wild in the city, in one of the seats, and a bunch of very skinny black kids in the back who were clowning around and kidding with the girls, one of whom was an exceedingly tall and flamboyant diva who wore shiny short-shorts and high heels. One of the girls asked the other, "Is that a dude?" and the diva strolled over, pulled open the waistband of the shorts and gave them a peek. They all burst out laughing. Apologies if I've told these here before... they're old stories. Didn't experience any weirdness in the subways when I was in NY recently, for some reason. First ride in NY, there was a classic woman who stands up and says in a loud voice "I want you all to know that I'm not crazy" and then proceeds to panhandle... there |
There is no escape. I like the one who wears the top hat. It makes me laugh |
Hey Nelly, are you from Memphis area? |
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i used to ride the bus when i lived in hawaii. it was the only place i've ever lived where public transportation was both convenient and reliable. nothing interesting ever happened on the bus there. generally people are too chill. often times there were older teenage boys riding the bus, alone, playing the ukulele. but that was nothing out of the ordinary really, except perhaps that the players were always teenage boys. |
I dreamed last night that I just discovered my mom has been having an affair for fifty years with a fiancee she had before she married my dad. Strange transference going on there somehow. |
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last night i dreamed about my grandfather, who's been dead for close to 15 years. he was a very gentle man and more of father to me than my father ever was, but in dream (which i can remember only in patches) he was angry with me or even hated me. i don't know what's going on in my brain. |
I don't have any bus stories, really. I did share some donuts from Phil's with some French tourists on the California Street cable car once, though. |
At some point before Pueblo a pretty teenage girl got on and sat beside me. We chatted for a while, then she fell asleep and ended up snuggling up to me. She got off at Pueblo that morning and I managed to resist getting off the bus myself. :) Later in the trip I sat beside an old man. He told be about his time in prison and other tall tales. At one point I offered him some beef jerky. He took it and started slicing it up with his long, dirty fingernails. I was a bit embarrassed after realizing he hardly had any teeth left. |
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so i waited at the stop for maybe ten minutes. then a minivan showed up; it had a ramp and i rolled in to the seatless back and the driver - gil - strapped me in. i told him about the #7, and since we couldn't get the bus to wait, he started trying to chase it down. but the 7 was hard to catch. by the time we were almost 3/4 of the way to my destination, he decided to just take me all the way. until he got a call on his walkie-talkie. it was a woman from dispatch. "gil, i've got mr. molina on the line and i can't understand him. can you talk to him?" gil is latino, and my assumption was that mr. molina needed someone who could speak spanish. but gil said, in english: "what's the problem, mr. molina?" mr. molina voice was garbled, and all i could hear was: "..er's a .uy o... an .... ot ca-ca! n .s ..oes! ca-ca!" "say again, mr molina?" "i .ot a .uy ..th .a-ca on ..s ..oes! shit!! .. -e -on't --t off!" "okay. what bus on you on today mr. molina? did you say number 4? 4? okay, were are you right now? say again? did you say hemphill mr. molina? did you you say hemphill? okay, i'll be there soon." gil called back the dispatcher and said, "this is gil. mr. molina's got a guy on his bus with, um, poop on his shoes." then he looked back at me and said, "it's always something." we were neck and neck with the 7 and gil motioned to the driver to stop at the next stop, which was only a few yards away, and i transfered over to the 7, which was driven by a woman with a raspy voice because of a sinus infection. i wonder if i could track down gil to find out how the "man with shit on his shoes" thing turned out. how much shit on person's shoes is enough to stop a bus? where did the shit come from? |
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today is my birthday nate's is not far off (shhhh) here's to believing that transformation exists and that this experience serves some purpose other than the one it is serving now. probably. probably not. |
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Thought I would chime in to say that *I* hope you get some meat presents. |
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Droopy's story reminds me of the Rollins story about his homeless friend Paul aka Sky King, who among other things laid down this piece of wisdom: "I could've been a dancer but I could never get the shit off my shoes." |
that story reminded me of an expression an uncle of mine once used while describing his experience as a soldier in ww2: "i was scareder than any man who ever shit between a pair of army boots." apparently it's a common phrase where he comes from (the mississippi swamps) and usually ends with "a pair of shoes". the image being that you get so scared you take a dump and it falls down your pants legs and lands between your shoes. maybe that's what happened to the guy on the bus. |
mine's tomorrow. all power to the fish. |
and for swine, I hoped your fish drown..... |
i am one of the fish. |
I made this just for you. |
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who is that, spider? |
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first glimpse ever. |
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:) |
I don't have a picture for you Heather, but How about a movie? |
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for now. |
i heard that the guy was still lying there when the bus came back an hour later. |
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The driver has a schedule to keep. |
On the three days a week I go to the office, I either drive or take the train/bus. Well, as you might recall, my 79 camaro ain't the most fuel efficient nor is the girl's f150 so as you can guess Im taking public transportation which comes to $5 for a day pass. It costs me $10 or more in gas to drive. The route I take, beginning with the above ground commuter rail brings all the suits to downtown from upity pasadena. on the train it is virtually quiet and everyone is reading a book or paper or working on their laptops. Once at union station i take the red line a couple stops and walk two blocks to catch the 333 crosstown bus. The particular corner I wait on...well its quite a transition from the aforementioned train. I've seen heroin deals go down right in front of me. Once on the bus, which takes about an hour Its like a mini tour through several different countries. Again, to contrast the aforementioned short train ride, im often the only white dude on the bus. we literally go through some of the poorest and more wealthy parts of town. my destination is venice. there's more to this. i've acquired quite a few bus journals over the last year. droop's post made me think of that. |
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Every day I get in the queue (Too much, Magic Bus) To get on the bus that takes me to you (Too much, Magic Bus) I'm so nervous, I just sit and smile (Too much, Magic Bus) You house is only another mile (Too much, Magic Bus) Thank you, driver, for getting me here (Too much, Magic Bus) You'll be an inspector, have no fear (Too much, Magic Bus) I don't want to cause no fuss (Too much, Magic Bus) But can I buy your Magic Bus? (Too much, Magic Bus) Nooooooooo! I don't care how much I pay (Too much, Magic Bus) I wanna drive my bus to my baby each day (Too much, Magic Bus) I want it, I want it, I want it, I want it ... (You can't have it!) Thruppence and sixpence every day Just to drive to my baby Thruppence and sixpence each day 'Cause I drive my baby every way Magic Bus, Magic Bus, Magic Bus ... I said, now I've got my Magic Bus (Too much, Magic Bus) I said, now I've got my Magic Bus (Too much, Magic Bus) I drive my baby every way (Too much, Magic Bus) Each time I go a different way (Too much, Magic Bus) I want it, i want it, I want it, I want it ... Every day you'll see the dust (Too much, Magic Bus) As I drive my baby in my Magic Bus (Too much, Magic Bus) |
Make a new plan, stan You don't need to be coy, roy Just get yourself free Hop on the BUS, gus You don't need to discuss much Just drop off the key, lee And get yourself free heh |
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J, i {heart} you. |
i'm on the bus this afternoon heading up summit street. we're coming up to the stop just before the "good news ministry" - a place where needy (by some definition) people can get donated food or clothes. three women are coming out of the ministry each carrying a bag or box of stuff. they are about a block away from the bus stop and the white woman starts waving frantically so the bus will stop. the driver stops, then starts pulling up to get closer to the three women so they don't have to run so far. the second the driver starts pulling forward, the white woman gets into to the street as if to stop the bus - she is yelling at the driver, she's not going to take shit. the driver lets all three women on. the white woman accuses the driver of almost leaving them and they get into an argument with shouting on the white woman's part. it takes maybe five minutes, but finally they white woman sits down near me. she is about 50 with hair dyed straw blond and topped with a cowboy hat. i had gotten on the bus with another woman who also sat near me. this woman and the obstreperous white woman immediately start talking like they know each other. i'm hard of hearing, but i don't hear well on a moving bus, and i only catch snatches of their conversation. it involved hermaphroditism and schizophrenia. went to work for the afternoon. glued an old piano stool back together, but i screwed it up and now it's wobbly. a young girl came in today and turned out to be the daughter of gus "bubba" gavrel who had been shot by famous texas murderer cullen davis. this came up because it turns out that my boss mickie had known both gavrel and davis back in the 70s when she was a jazz singer. she told us about the time she went to a party cullen davis threw on the colonial golf course (during a tournament) and he was playing the movie "deep throat". and i {heart} j, too. |
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i didn't even watch the video. but i read the title, and i laughed, and laughed, and laughed. |
Bus stop, wet day, she's there, I say Please share my umbrella Bus stop, bus goes, she stays, love grows Under my umbrella All that summer we enjoyed it Wind and rain and shine. That umbrella we employed it By August, she was mine Every morning I would see her waiting at the stop Sometimes she'd shop and she would show me what she'd bought Other people stared as if we were both quite insane Someday my name and hers are going to be the same That's the way the whole thing started Silly, but it's true Thinking of a sweet romance Beginning in a queue Came the sun the ice was melting No more sheltering now Nice to think that that umbrella Led me to a vow Every morning I would see her waiting at the stop Sometimes she'd shop and she would show me what she'd bought Other people stared as if we were both quite insane Someday my name and hers are going to be the same Bus stop, wet day, she's there, I say Please share my umbrella Bus stop, bus goes, she stays, love grows Under my umbrella All that summer we enjoyed it Wind and rain and shine That umbrella we employed it By August, she was mine Sarah,Droopy,I loves you too,I think this is the last bus song I can come up with.But never say never. |
Bus Stop at the transportation center on a nice warm, humid day. Bus Stop Bus Stop where people are coming to hop on the bus, other are getting on one bus from another bus (tranfer). Bus Stop Bus Stop is where alot of different kind of people. Such as Crazy , Mentally Illiness, Dope Heads, Handicapped, Senior Citizens, Blind with the aid of Dog, Homeless, and Businessmen/woman meets. Bus Stop Bus Stop is a place where you are standing at the "Bus Stop" sign , waiting for the bus to stop and pick you up. Bus Stop Bus Stop is a place where you can stay in a shelter glazing through a faded plexiglass scrawled with graffiti, looking at the bus schedule telling you what time will the bus stop at point. Bus Stop Bus Stop is a area where the garbage can,newspaper stand, bicycle stand,traffic light stand,and telephone booth stand next to you. Bus Stop Bus Stop is where people stare down the road waiting for their ride, when they see their bus in the distance, they immediately reach in their pocket or purse scrambling for their money and getting ready to hop on as the bus comes to near. Bus Stop Bus Stop is also a place where people gets off, telling their driver " have a nice day" or cuss at the other people who are trying to get on the bus " fuck off bitch!, I am trying to get off the damn bus!" Bus Stop Bus Stop is where people often asking the bus driver for a direction or is the bus going on my route. |
after half a minute he looks up at me and says "oh, hi! i didn't hear you roll up." we recognize each other immediately even though i don't think we've seen each other for a few years. "i ride a quiet machine," i say. "well, i was miles away. thinking about my dead wife. been gone a year now." i remembered his wife well. i knew she must have some kind of disease, because she was absolutely skeletal every time i saw her. she just looked like she was dying. the man looked the same: about sixty with shoulder-length scraggly hair and a scraggly beard, both mostly grey with bits of red. he used to wear a big leather cowboy hat no matter how hot it got, but this time he had a white straw cowboy hat on. his face was still leathery and his teeth were still bad. he was smoking hand-rolled cigarettes (tobacco ones). he told me he was heading up to the train station to catch a train to dallas for a court date. "it's an old one, from a few years back." i didn't ask what the case was for and he didn't volunteer any information. he started complaing about stains on his jeans. the bus came and we got on. as we rode, he stood next to me and talked. my hearing isn't perfect, and it's worse on a moving, clattering bus, but i caught bits of it. he'd had a couple of years of law school, so he'd beat this rap in five minutes. he once got himself out of jail by writing his own writs while his lawyer was out of vacation. then something about having been a teacher - something he always mentions. then i think he started to spin some tale about being in vietnam when we pulled up to the station. he headed for the train and i headed for my next bus. "was he just a liar? no, i don't think so. he was a survivor; his stories kept him going. stories were the only things the poor owned. a poor man, he gave himself a life. he filled the hole with many lives." (roddy doyle) |
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just another man on the bus. You're great Mr. Droopy. Roll on. |
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i don't think he has a job. he doesn't look too employable. he lives down the street from me in some houses across the street from a pet food factory. i'm pretty sure these houses, which are pretty isolated, are where they dump criminals who probably couldn't get another place to live. i know there's a sex offender there. so the story about his going to dallas for a court date i could believe. but he's a nice guy. |
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when i got off work, i went over to the liquor store and bought a bottle of cheap jug wine. one of those short fat bottles of carlo rossi that i can manage to hide in my wheelchair bag. i saw the bus go by, so i knew i had ten minutes to get over to the bus stop by the pizza place before it came back around. there was already someone there waiting. he watched my as i crossed university street, which is a busy street. i had to stop in the middle and let cars pass before i could get all the way across. it was dark. when i got to the stop, he said, "that was a bold move! hell, i would've got up and stopped traffic for you!" i said it was all right, i did this ever week. it didn't take me long to figure out that he wasn't just convivial, he was drunk; pretty lit up, but not too bad. the oui lounge, a legendary bar, was just a couple of blocks away; i wondered if that's were he was coming from. it was only a little after 6pm. he told me he was from philadelphia but lived in fort lauderdale florida and was in fort worth to see the stock show and rodeo. i asked him if that's where he was going. he said, "where is it?" i said it was about a mile down university street and that's where the bus would be going. he shook his head. "what's that street with the bars and restaurants" "berry street?" i said. it was about 4 or 5 blocks down the road at the beginning of the college campus. "yeah yeah," he said. "where you going?" "downtown." "what's downtown?" "home. that's where i live." the bus came around the corner. i let the drunk guy get on first. the bus driver, who knows me, parked about two feet away from the curb to allow for the ramp he was going to have to lower. i let the drunk guy get on first; when he stood up, i noticed how unsteady he was. it was funny watching him trying to negotiate the gap trying to get on the bus. he looked guy at one of those funhouse attractions where the floor moves and you have to stomp around trying to keep your balane. the bus driver smiled at me. the drunk wandered up and down the bus a couple of times and finally sat down. the driver smiled at me and lowered the ramp. when i was on and the bus got going, the driver asked the drunk where he was going. he said, "downtown." oh fuck. luckily, he got off at the college campus and started walking toward berry street, presumably on a quest to find a bar that would let him in. good thing i didn't tell him there are bars downtown. the rest of the trip, the bus driver started talking about how he quit drinking. i told him that a bottle of whiskey had put me in a wheelchair (which is partly true) and i think it spared me from hearing all of his stories of misery and redemption. dr. pepper: there's already a song called "bus stop" by the hollies. "bust stop - wet day - she's there, i say 'please share my umbrella'.... |
if i remember one of the few line he said " we are talking about women and the bus, and behind me is alot of women". and i heard my grandfather chuckle and chorted. hahaha. |
there was a new woman driving the bus from my apartment complex to the downtown station. i had to roll up the sidewalk and across the street for her to get into position to pick me up. when i got on the number 7 from downtown, it had started to rain. a man with of about 50 got on the bus after me and sat across from me. he was dressed old clothes and seemed nervous and confused. he'd fidget a lot and talk to himself. i tried not to look at him, but every so often i'd sneak a peek. i noticed that his hands had sores on them and a couple of his fingers were missing at the first knuckle. about 10 minutes into our bus trip he got and started walking around the open area of the front of the bus, where i was in my wheelchair held in place by straps. he was in distress. he turned and began walking toward me. he looked like one of the zombies in "night of the living dead." when he got to me he put his hand on my soldier and sort of leaned into me. i was a little scared and put my hand up to keep him from falling on me. the bus driver started yelling "sir! sir!". he came to himself and sat back down again. he said he was sorry, he had seizures. the driver asked him where he was going. he mumbled "mcclain middle school", which is the last stop on the line. the driver couldn't hear him and wanted him to come up to the front, but i just told her "he's going all the way to bluebonnet" and she went on. the man sat quietly for the rest of the trip, but still looked nervous and confused. when i got off at my stop, there was a medium but steady rain. i knew it was going to be raining pretty hard by the time i left, so i decided to get my liquor store shopping over first. i rolled a block over to bluebonnet liquor. i was wearing my rain pancho. it's not completely effective; it keeps most of the rain coming down off me, but my wheels pick up a lot of water and throw it up into the pancho and i get wet anyway. when i got to the liquor store, the only ramp onto the sidewalk had an ice truck backed onto it, unloading ice for the liquor store. i rolled over and looked at the two guys doing the unloading. i was going to ask them how long they would be and see if i could find a good spot to jump the curb. fortunately, the minute the driver saw me he said "sorry" and moved the truck. i bought a bottle of whiskey and went to the shop. there weren't many customers. i sorted hangers, labeled boxes and other fun shit. my boss said she couldn't join me at the thelonious monk festival this afternoon; she'd be in dallas. but she let me have a funky hat she couldn't sell. i left the shop during a pretty heavy rain. the bus that picked me up and a lot of water on the floor, and it made rivers of floating garbage. back at the downtown station i had to wait a half hour for the number 11 to take me back to my apartment complex. normally i roll myself home, but the rain was too bad. at my apartment complex i had to roll down a hill to get to my street. rolling a wheelchair in the rain is tricky business. the problem is that the wheels get so wet you can't control the speed with your hands - there's such a coating of water you can't get a good grip. hydroplaning, basically. you can't slow down, only come to a dead stop. if you're on a hill and start going too fast, it's pretty dangerous because coming to a dead stop could throw you out of the chair. but i learned to handle this long ago. i "lower" myself down the hill: ease each wheel down, alternating from one to the other. i was one soggy cripple when i got home, but i'd do it again. |
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i'd like to hear about your few minor episodes. |
i was only a couple of minutes late leaving my apartment, but the eleven bus was 5 minutes early yesterday. as i was rolling up the hill, i saw it go by. normally, i would just wait for the next bus - one hour later - but i was feeling frisky yesterday and set off to roll myself across town to the central bus station. i set off on the sidewalk running parallel to 3rd street. after i get out of my apartment complex, i have to go under a train bridge. there's a sidewalk that runs under it, but about halfway through there's a slab of concrete that juts into the sidewalk. there's just barely enough space to fit my wheelchair around it. i usually just get on the road, but yesterday i thought i'd try. i made it, but was a centimeter away from dropping off the curb. i'm thinking that maybe one day i'll set a couple of cinder blocks next to the curb one day to allow more space. after i go under the train bridge, i have to travel 3 blocks uphill. it's not impossible, but it's still a bit grueling for someone who drinks as much as i do. at one point, i noticed a police car pass by and then slow down to watch my progress. but i kept going and he drove off. i get to the top of the hill on 3rd and then head was on jones st. toward the bus station. the next five blocks are downhill, so i just coast. when i hit 8th, there's no useable sidewalk; so i have to travel one block on the street. i'm heading into traffic on a one-way street. but i make it. at ninth i hit the bus station. the bus i planned to catch - the seven - was a bit late that day and i could see it pulling out. the driver, ms. romero, knows me and waved to me when she saw me. she pulled over and let me get on. behind me was another guy - a bald guy who walked with a cane. ms. romero said that two guys got lucky today. on summit st., at the bus stop near the "helping hand ministry" that gives free food to the needy, we pick up a guy. he's a black guy in his fifties. he has several bags of stuff with him, presumably from the helping hand. the driver asks him where he's going. everything he says he mumbles, so it's hard to understand him. but the word "downtown" was understood, the the driver told him to get off and wait for the other number 7 that would take him downtown. he didn't seem to understand what she was saying, so she finally let him sit down and ride the bus to wherever the hell it took him. he sat near me, just a little behind me. he gave me a stick of gum, which i mimed putting in my mouth. so i went to my job. my boss, who's been having having a lot of health problems lately, made an appearance at the shop. yesterday, the counties to west of fort worth caught fire. by the afternoon, the sky was gray with smoke. when i left the shop a 6pm, you could smell it. as i approached downtown on the bus, you could see the haze around the tall buildings. when i got to the bus station, i rolled myself home the same way i'd gotten there earlier. when i was on the road - and not the sidewalk - between 9th and 8th, i saw another guy in a wheelchair on the street with me; a black guy in a hospital wheelchair creeping along using his legs (some wheelchair users have enough strength in their legs to move themselves in a chair, but not stand). i got home and started drinking vodka. |
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i often think about what would happen if i was in a bus that actually had an accident. during the near-crash, i tried to brace myself for impact. my chair is tied down, but i'm not. i wonder how much of an impact it would take to throw me out of the chair and onto the pedestal/table thing feet in front of me. if there were and impact, would it damage my chair? i don't worry about it too much, but it's something to think about. of course, we're talking about a big ass bus hitting a little-bitty car. if it broadsided it squarely, there would probably just be a jolt i could brace myself for and the poor mangled car would be pushed down the street. of course, if the bus tried to swerve and then hit the car and thrown off course, all sorts of shit could happen. on the way back home, i picked up some gin and vermouth...just for a change of pace. |
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You just don't fuck with buses. You cant win. |
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apparently he rode that bus frequently, because he immediately got into a conversation with the bus driver - a black guy of about 50. they started talking about the lottery; the y.m. had a plan for playing it, and spent our entire cross-town trip describing it to him. eventually we got to the college campus, where the bus picked a very cute young woman in a catering outfit. she had to walk between the y.m. and the bus driver; as soon as she was next to him, she asked the y.m.: "what language do you speak?". the y.m. was nonplussed, then said "bangla." (so he was from bangladesh.) the girl then said: "how do you say 'thank you very much,sir?'" he told her something, but i can't remember it now. she thanked him. as she was heading toward a seat he stopped her to explained variations and interesting points in the bangla language. two blocks down the bus stopped; the driver tapped the y.m. and said: "don't you get off here?" the y.m. smiled sheepishly and got off. 2. at the downtown station again. i had missed one bus and had to wait 30 minutes to catch the next. it was cool, about 59. one bus terminal was a guy sitting on the ground leaning against one of the big brick posts. he was very thin - lanky. his skin was very black and, from a distance, the whites of his eyes seemed to float in a black field. he had a wool cap on his head from which cobweb-like wisps of year would spill out. his clothes where sizes to large and bunched around him like elephant skin. he wrapped himself in brand-new thrift store blanket - it was striped and the colors were bright. he wore old old flip-flops over very white socks. sometimes i thought he might be a woman, but i'll refer to him as a male. at first, he just sat there wrapped up facing the train tracks. then he got up, tore off the top of the nearby trash bin and started rifling through it. he tossed an entire hot dog bun (no meat, just bun) on the ground. he left it there and sat back down. he looked over at me with those floating white eyes, then looked away. a bus down the line pulled out. the man got, grabbed the hot dog bun and went to the edge of the sidewalk. as the bus passed, he held out the bun as if offering it. it was hard to tell if it was meant for the driver or the bus itself. either way, the bus rolled ungratefully by without accepting. angry, he tore the bun into pieces and through them on the sidewalk. it took a few minutes for the birds to show up: pigeons, grackles, and a few songbirds. after the feast, the birds wandered around making sure not a crumb was left. one pigeon made its way all the way over to me, stopping at my feet. i never noticed what fat bastards fort worth pigeons are. |
I am envisioning a Dali-esque street corner in the middle of Fort Worth where a overswollen bun confronts a city bus and large fat bastard pigeons are strutting nearby feasting as if vultures hungry on helpless men caught with their wheels in sewer grates at the curb. Poledancers in the distance on-looking. |
