by N. Joy Lutton
too many peoples on dis bus, he stood up
and shouted. Dey neet to get off! His
hand was holding the scraps of what remained of
stonewashed denim, bundling the fabric above his
crotch. Nuffin but a bunch of sinners and
and transplants all turned to look, while locals
bobbed to the beat blasting from their earbuds,
clutched their cells tighter to their ears, or
brought books closer, trying to block out the
sight, sound, and smell.
you headthens, get out!
whats wrong with that man? a small
voice asked from the front of the bus. A murmur
filled the air before the voice continued.
Well if hes sick why doesnt a
doctor give him some medcine so he feels
of bastards need to get off my bus now, gad-dammet!
All the bodies
in the bus seemed to be inching away from the man,
as he stumbled up the aisle like a sick animal.
havvet your way ya assholes. I needa piss and
since ya wont get off my
His mocha-colored hand fumbled
down the front of his pants, digging, while women
gasped, turning their childrens sight out
A woman in her
Sunday best in the back of the bus cried out,
Oh sweet Jes- as the bus screamed and
stuttered to a halt. The mans hand popped
from his pants as he tumbled down to the floor.
buddy. Thats your stop.
The bum stood
up and walked back, scooped up a dusty garbage
bag before finding his way to the front of the
bus. The man turned to the bus driver after
looking out the windshield window.
OFarrell and Jones, eh? His bag-less
hand grasped the fabric, holding his pants in
place as he slowly slid down the bus steps.
Bunch of heathens, he said to the bus
driver before stepping off. I dont
know why you let em on my bus, Al.
He took a final step and cackled out, smiling as
he said, Ah, see you next time, pal. Maybe
next time, Ill make it to Leavenworth.
rattled on as the man cackled down the street.