Thursday, September 04, 2008


I was riding home from work last night on the bus. Not an unusual occurrence, I know. The bus and I, we're good friends. We have an understanding, you see; it arrives on time, I arrive on time. But sometimes one of us doesn't hold true to our agreement. When that happens, I feel more like how a dog feels when it chases a car. You know you'll never catch it, but you simply must try. But I digress.

So, I was riding home from work last night on the bus. And two "gentlemen" were sitting behind me. I use the term "gentlemen" loosely because they didn't seem all that gentle and were certainly not men. They were more like rough hooligans. But I digress again.

Yes, last night, I was riding home on the bus, from work. And two rough hooligans were sitting behind me. They were, I might add, talking at the top of their lungs for the whole bus to hear, whether they wanted to or not. And trust me, no one wanted to listen to this conversation. I was privy to "hiding-pot-and-smoking-paraphernalia-from-the-police 101." I do not lie. Nor do I digress. So, if you're in the market for this type of information, see me after the show. And as a preview, I'll leave you with this little jem: dealers don't like when you pay with singles.