![]() She’s practically falling asleep, definitely not afraid, and slurring out the dialogue as if it’s because there’s nothing else to say. Instead they sound like bad actors, sighing after being asked to say the same lines again a hundredth time. Her lines are the type generally used to repel unwanted and scary advances his are normally reserved for intense hate felt personally. “Oh she’s alright, she’s nice,” I inform him. As in, it’s late at night in Pioneer Square, and we’re supposed to be drunk and fighting. Neither one is particularly intimidating in their verbal parrying they seem to be just going through the motions. He’s a rail-thin black African man in a flannel and knit cap, much older than he looks. She’s a heavyset black American woman in her fifties, eyes half-closed and speaking in slow motion. So much for gentle steering and similar birthdays!įights are never about anything important. “January!” he says, still standing up front. He’s wildly unstable, and we need to make friends. “You’re twenty-nine? Did you say you’re twenty-nine? I’m twenty-nine!” This is excellent. “Yeah, how you been?” He looks familiar but gaunt today, wild eyed, man as hyena. “Hey, how you doin’? You feelin’ alright?”Ĭalm him down, in case he isn’t. After a mental coin flip I open the doors. Now there’s a guy saying, “aaaa,” and trying not to run into the side of the bus. Just last trip at this very intersection a man was bodily dragging another (large) man out of the street, struggling to haul his unconscious carcass over the curb. ![]() ![]() There is much intoxication happening tonight, New Year’s Day. “Happy New Year, Mister Bus driver,” she saying again now. “I’m a little tipsy,” she’d said upon boarding, a woeful understatement. We had this exact same exchange five minutes ago.
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