dreams, the bus.

I dreamt last night that my sweetie was writing a “ransom note” to a co-worker in alpha-bits, and she had me sort the letters out in a fresh box while preparing the text for the note.

No glue or anything on the letters, just arranged on his desk, warning him that doom was soon to befall him… and I think it was implied that he was to eat the note after reading it. I’m not sure… it was a little hazy on that point.

I wonder how the plan of coming revenge on the ‘mad knocker’ is coming along?

There’s a crazy guy on the bus, a year or two ago. I sat down near the back, and after a minute he says, “Hey.”

I look up.

“God bless you, man.”

I smile and go back to my book. He starts saying “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” to no one in particular, and I think to myself, yeah, okay. I’m familiar with this. There aren’t generally many crazies on the TRI8. It’s not a city bus. It’s a shuttle; it toodles around the nice little yuppie neighborhoods and gathers up all the nice little yuppies, and deposits them safe and sound at the nearest Metro entrance. It’s a school bus for Tri-rail commuters. There are usually no strangers riding it, just regulars.

But hey, no big deal. I used to ride route 10 back and forth to work; this stuff is old hat to me. Vagrants, drunks, whathaveyou.

More people shuffle into the back. Businessmen with briefcases. An older woman with dyed hair and an impressive black skirt/jacket power ensemble sits down across from me and starts reading the Post, trying to ignore the crazy guy, who is having a quiet but animated conversation with the window.

At the next stop he gets off. Trips over my shoe on the way out. “Beg your pardon,” I say, and he backs away, mumbling “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Not really crazy, I think. He knows what’s going on, he’s trying to act socially normal. Just a crossed wire or two, is all.

The older woman looks up. “Why’d he get off here?” she asks. Clearly meaning, in my neighborhood?

A businessman shrugs.

“You know what I was ready to do?” the woman asks. Then she bugs her eyes and sticks her tongue out and shakes her clawed fist up over her head and kicks her high heels up into the air. “Haaaa-YAAAAAAA!!” she shrieks.

The businessmen laugh nervously.

“I was,” says the woman, her face a bit flushed. “I really was.”

Related Posts

Leave a Reply