Every morning I ride the bus to work. Parking is expensive and I do not enjoy the stress of rush hour traffic, so the bus is the right choice for me.
One cannot help but overhear conversations when riding the bus. It may be a means of transportation, but it is public transportation, which means that there is no such thing as a private conversation.
Two of the more memorable fellow passengers on my route are recovering Meth addicts. These two women are walking proof that using a substance capable of blowing up buildings and generating toxic waste is a very bad idea. Their conversation gives me hours of mental entertainment and good stories.
One day this past week, the two meth addicts boarded the bus. They were joined by a third companion, a man of an indeterminate age, and all three were upset. One woman was nearly hysterical, holding her nose and wrist and crying. Her two companions had to hold her up as the three of them trudged up the aisle to the back door.
As the ride progressed, it became clear that the three had just been in a car accident. The man had a shallow cut across his forehead. The hysterical woman had bashed her nose and right wrist hard off the dashboard.
As they continued talking, more of the story was reveled. The man with the cut never bothered to renew his driver's license. The woman with the broken nose had a suspended license. One of them was driving (I never determined which one). And they were complaining about how surly the police were.
You think?
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