Thursday, December 16, 2004

Taking the bus home I sat an aisle across from a man speaking to an older man in the row in front. The younger man was talking in an animated manner, receiving the occasional grunts and nods from the man in front, who was facing the front of the bus. It seemed like the man was talking to himself. After a while, it became obvious that he was.

The man sat in a sprawled fashion, taking up parts of the seat next to him. The bus was crowded enough to have people standing, but no one sat next to him. Physically, he was like everybody else, and of course, he very well might have been. For the duration of the bus ride, he spoke in short phrases, with strong emphasis and pauses. To me, he sounded like he was rapping. Through the bodies in the aisle and the noise of the bus engine and the surrounding traffic, I could hear the focused and continuous flow of words he uttered. He drew out the syllables and spoke with a kind of understated force

To the best of my memory, this is roughly what I heard:

Don’t do marijuana
Because you will go to

Big corporations

We are responsible
We are
Responsible for our actions

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