The Short Bus

At 6:00 in the morning the yelling on the short bus started, Hey man…you better go by 88th Street and pick up those guys over there ’cause you forgot ’bout them the other day and man was they pissed at you, loudly the PR pointed out the bus driver’s mistake as whoops and hollers from America’s forgotten rang out over Salsa music….A.M. talk radio…..hip-hop rapping sagging might be haggling brothers arguing over what be dope and nope……you dig…….

Gotta get this schedule down man, He continued with an accent straight off of Hunts Point, The deal is you wait for us…..not the other way around man, and that’s right followed by damn straight and you better listen motherfucker by all on the bus as traffic tightened on Madison and greens turned to reds and ambulances went wrong ways down one ways and cops block off 6th, 7th, and 8th…..

I’ll get you get you there when I get you there, the Mick says under his breath…..I’m the driver…..let me do my job you bunch of…..

Oooooooooooo…..I know you didn’t just say that word, again, the PR antagonizes,….you better watch what you say or this whole bus will blow up I’m telling you pops, silence for a second or two…..

What did that motherfucker say, the black kid with the Knicks hat tilted to the right demanded, tell me what that mother fuckin’ old white man be sayin’, the kid persisted, I be breakin’ that motherfucker’s legs you watch…..

And the short bus comes to a stop. Right in the middle of 1st Avenue as the sun rises over the East River and the United Nations flags blew with a dramatic rippled effect, leaving all aboard to a dead silence…..

The door opened and the Mick with his plaid mac stood at the front with sturdy legs and a shaky voice, You’re on your own, he bowed and walked down the stairs to hit the street without a shout or a yell nor a word stated at all…..

And that was that……..



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