The man sitting directly next to me was slightly overweight, balding (although desperately trying to hide it by sweeping a few lonely strands of hair across his naked forehead) and looked in his mid forties. He grunted restlessly and loosened the governing tie from around his neck.
Something about the way he sat perplexed me. His fists were gripped tightly around his leather briefcase to the point of his knuckles turning white from poor circulation. He had a slight hunch on account of lousy posture which gave him a tired and sloppy appearance. I could tell that he was the type who feels utterly uncomfortable in crowds. It was perhaps some type of social phobia, but the man seemed more annoyed by our presence than fearful of human contact. The way that he held his briefcase gave me the impression that inside the receptacle was an item of substantial value. (To him at least). I scoffed at the thought of what might actually be enclosed in the bronze rimed, man made leather case. �Probably a framed picture of his goddess of a mother and a few collector issues of Hustler,� I thought to myself, �Just for those long and lonely nights on the shitter.� Lonely, I had absolutely no doubt in my mind that he was. This guy must spend many Saturday nights secretly surfing for porn on the web while indulging in a nose pickin� fiesta.
I quickly snapped out of my thoughtful trance as a car full of Hispanic teenagers rode by our bus stop. A young man in the passenger seat vibrated his tongue and let out a suggestive howling noise from deep within his throat. Considering I was the only young (and even slightly attractive) woman present, I assumed that this prepositional catcall was intended especially for me. I knew that it had been a bad idea to wear my tight new skirt suit with such a revealing hemline. I could feel a scarlet flush slowly creep from my upper neck to my checks.
An older lady sitting on the opposite side of my amigo let out a warm chuckle. She turned my direction with leisurely grace, then looked me up and down, as if to evaluate my worthiness of such a proposal. �I was quite a catch in my day, I can remember being responsible for a few minor traffic accidents.� She haughtily nodded her head, then continued with a half whited slander, �I don�t suppose you�ve ever had that problem, now have ya sugar?� Her voice had a southern twang more cultured than most I�ve heard, perhaps she derived from the northern Dixie, but that was just an educated guess. From the way that she presented herself, I assumed the old maid came from a thoroughbred plantation family, but the wealth had not prospered through her prime. She wore 1950�s style rhinestone glamour shades, a vintage �gold� necklace around her withered neck, then to top it off she wore a wide brimmed sun hat to protect her cracked plaster face from harmful UV rays.
I turned myself to face the graying beauty, while wearing a counterfeit smile. �No, this is my first attempt at attracting quality business, I usually dress less conservative than this.� I tried to speak casually, but from the sneer upon her prehistoric face I must have forgotten to drop the sarcastic overtone in my voice. She nodded with frigid cruelty, to let me know that she decided our lovely discussion was now over. Subtly, I rolled my eyes at her arrogance, not obvious enough for anyone to notice, but enough that I could sleep tonight feeling the victor, sometimes that is enough to satisfy my ravenous ego. Self deception is an art form that can be a blessing if you�re good enough at it. I am the Salvador Dali of self deception.
After my bewildering confrontation with the oldest whore still working the block, I checked the progress of my commuter bus on the 405. The large vehicle was now trying to convince others to allow it�s passage through the constant flow of cars so that it could reach the right transit lane. My best estimate of the bus� remaining distance was a quarter mile.
I looked up at the sky that was threatening cast a fantastic thunderstorm shortly. I could feel the warm humidity caress my body with gentle, damp arms. If the storm was to break lose within the next five minutes I would surely be condemned to a moist bus ride home, while having to endure the olfactory assaulting odors of sweaty and wet feet. This did not seem a likely scenario because of the CT�s proximity. Nonetheless, I removed the black, Eddie Bauer brand, umbrella from my leather handbag. My family has always given me a difficult time for my anal need to be prepared for adverse weather conditions. I can only rationalize this obsession from an experience I had with hypothermia at the age of seven. Ever since my near fatal cold I have made certain to be equip with an arsenal of defensives against the elements. If one was to open the trunk of my car they would find the following defenses; one Gortex trench coat, tire chains, an ice pick, windshield scraper, a pair of rubber galoshes, snow shoes, gasoline and matches to start a fire if necessary, a space blanket, flares, and the list goes on. As the tail end of my compact vehicle drags against the cement it appears that I may have a few dead bodies stored in the trunk The reassurance I gain from knowing I have a bitch slap over mother nature is enough to keep my ego focused on other issues through out the day.
As the bus came to a leisurely halt before me it appeared that all seats were being occupied by nodding Vainly, I turned to the old lady who pouted with displeasure and annotated, �We�ll see who gets a man to give up his seat now, you old wench.�
