Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Bus Crackers - Section V

STD Vaccinations

This bus breeds loneliness and fear. Isolation and sorrow. Echos of sadness reverberate of the plexiglass windows that only ever fully open in case of emergency. The patrons are compliant and do not see the entire madness that surrounds them. To look into the eyes of every shadow would instantaneously cause their thick skulls to crack open. The light that shines through ceases their human breath without hesitation. This bus ride took an unexpected turn onto the bumpy road of space, time, and reality. The bus no longer moves but continues to make it stops on time. The driver's fundamental clockwork does not allow a comfortable seat. Two boys play craps in the aisle as a transvestite gazes longingly at the foggy horizon. An old lady reads a romance novel as a drunken slob nods in and out of consciousness holding down a sea sickness that has become just as much apart of his daily routine as cardboard and garbage cans. He may have his face eaten off some day. This bus did not plan its route. A violent tornado swept through the middle of the village on which this passenger carriage ignorantly travels through each day. This complacently gentle man's barley blows calmly in the wind, but the storm swept him away and made a pickled lush out of him.

Marvin just got off work. He fears that someone will attempt to mug him for his wallet. He imagines various scenarios of what may happen when he gets off the bus. Marvin will get home safely one way or another. It would not matter if here were mugged anyway. He suffered many beatings in high school and Marvin has already fallen victim to a thief at the station without a means of getting on the bus. The whole ordeal happened directly after Marvin bought his ticket. Ticket in hand Marvin shoves his wallet in his pocket. The man waiting to buy a ticket behind Marvin intentional crowds him as Marivin turns away from the window. A gentle bump and a, "Pardon me." Not even god noticed a slight change in the man's careful and automatic demeanor as he approached the ticket window with the wallet in hand like his father gave it to him for his birthday.

Marvin stares at the back of the seat in front of him. The words "WE ALL DIE" are written in marker. He does not know if he should show appreciation or disdain for the reminder. His uncle died earlier in the year and a set of grandparents several years prior, but like those who eat the flesh of rotting corpse Marvin does not have much experience with death. Marvin is a successful environmental law attorney. He could purchase the nicest Bingingram on the block if he desired. Taking the bus is the price that he feels he must pay in order to avoid hypocrisy. He recently won a very successful case against the billionaire Billy Greenoil. Marvin made himself and his clients millionaires today, but all he can focus on is the smell of vomit and the writing on the bus seat.

Marvin jumps out of his seat and yells, "Stop this fucking bus right now. I must get off this bus right now."

The bus driver whips around holding the big wheel with one hand, "I can only let you off at a stop pal. You want off? Then pull the chord and shut up dammit."

In a tantrum Marvin tugs the chord for the bell and tosses himself back down into his seat. The other patron's stare at Marvin in shock and disgust. He scans over them all and says, "I going to buy a brand new Bingingram first thing tomorrow!" The other patrons all turn away shacking their heads and gasping in disappointment and confusion. Marvin tells himself that he does not care about their opinions as he once again stares blankly at the writing on the bus seat.

A pair of teenagers with piercings and mohawks furiously kiss each other with tongue as a woman with shopping bags at her feet nurses her child. The next stop is tomorrow.

Thursday, May 24, 2012

Bus Crackers - Section IV

I found that I can tap into my wifi while at the bus stop. Simply wild. No better time to blog then while waiting for the bus. I can add a unexpected chapter as ants crawl up my legs biting my hamstrings while on mission to my ears. The little governmental agents want to find their way to my brain and insert ideals of infinite growth. I will not let that happen and I wage war upon their brothers. They may have already won. This story is already a tragedy of censorship, but like the ants I march on. I must have missed the bus. They sink in again. Dining upon my daylight white thighs like they're fresh raw chicken. The heat's rising temperature cooks the meal to perfection. A tattooed tweeker sits down. He asks the time. Under normal circumstances I would decline the courteous offering, but I was afraid he would shank me or bite me with his zombie teeth. He could not be a day over 23 but he has the yellowed teeth of a 90 year old Alabama farmer. Does the breath eventually just start to smell like ribs? Im becoming increasingly nervous as he paces back and forth. The bus should be here any minute. I need caffeine.