If Snow Could Cry

I follow the Penguin into the Washington Bus.

I stop in shock. Every inch of overhead storage, every seat, every square foot, is packed. Over a hundred faces look up at me with the same expression: Where the fuck are you going to fit in? Here I stand with my backpack in my hands. I walk in some and find a seat in the near front, behind the penguin and sit with my backpack on my lap, making myself comfortable next to a sleeping man.

Next stop, Richmond Virginia.

There, walking around, waiting for my next bus at the station, I go over to a machine and pop in some change. I could feel the twang in my stomach for something to eat. I net a Moonpie from the machine along with a pack of potato chips. When turning around I see a man sanding next to me. "Excuse me," he asks. "But would you have some change were I can get something to eat, like a bag of chips or something. I left without blah, blah, blah." And the rest of the vagrant...I'm in need of your cash...bullshit that comes out of these fucking guys. I handed over my potato chips after opening it and taking a hand full of chips out and he took it and walked off. I guess he was hungry.

I re-enter the new bus and this time I bag a seat with an empty next to me. I throw my bag in it and get comfort- able. In front of me is the beggar from outside, who sits down and rolls over, slumping into the chair. In moments he takes on the familiar shape and form of the motherfucker that was sleep next to me for the entire trip up here from Rocky Mount. Well I'll be damned.

The bus rocked once and hit the road.

We finally wheezed into Washington DC, turning and pulling into our berth at the station. We are told that gate 1 will take us into New York the fastest. In four hours. Our bus here will take us six hours. The scenic route. The bus driver laughs over the PA. Yeah, I guess you would find that sort of torture funny if you drove buses for a living too.

I get out and get in the line for the bus ride that I affection- ately call the BUS RIDE FROM HELL. I remember the so called express bus from Washington to New York. Two things stand out most in my mind: 1) the ride was uncomfortably crowded, and 2) the ride was impossibly long. Looking behind me at the line of passengers that had already built up, I could see that the first half of my dread was about to come true.

I found some overhead space for my backpack, and got a seat near a window. Another passenger squeezed in a seat next to mine, and then off we went. On the impossibly long ride. The constant drone of the bus, along with the book I was reading, knocked me out on several occasions.

When the bus traveled farther into New Jersey, snow covered the median of the highway. Snow?? What the Holy Christmas?! It was snow. Snow was everywhere.

But still, it was a long motherfucking ride.

I was so happy to see signs for the Lincoln Tunnel, I could cry.

HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2008/12/if-snow-could-cry.html
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