Obviously I need to get an earlier bus, or maybe a later one. This dude doesn't know what he's doing.
This drunk lady, a different one from the one with cirrhosis*, tumbled into the crowd during one of his nauseating stops and starts. Then she kept apologizing to me.
Don't apologize to me, lady. It wasn't my toes you stepped on. And it's not the smell of your breath that's making me sick either.
And it was standing room only on the bus. Except for the dude in the wheelchair, who was on the way to pick up his car from the shop. "They better have my car ready, man," I heard him say to his friend, "This is the last bus for me."
I wish I could say that.
* How do I know she has cirrhosis? I'm no doctor, but I can recognize ascites when I see it.