Peculiar x 2

A few weeks ago I had the extremely unoriginal occurrence of taking the bus on a Sunday morning. Why I write about this today (and not bloody then) can only be attributed to my failing memory and the fact that the napkin where I took some original notes on this was playfully hiding from me under a growing pile of paper, most of it useless, that sits on my desk. I usually spend the bus ride reading, except when there's entertaining people-watching to do. That morning, a couple of original occurrences awaited me, in the form of two curious men.

The first one got on the bus two stops after I did. Despite his obvious intention to disguise himself as a younger man with the cunning use of a "Primark" coat, I reckon he must have been over 40. His cheeks were of a very intense red, for some reason. I like to think that the merry tones weren't caused by ruthless drinking that early in the morning. Although come to think of it, it might have. He had this whole Don Quixote look (literally, goatee and crazy eyes). He started angrily preaching, directly to the driver, about how outrageous it was that it was Sunday, 11-ish (as if this was paramount data for his speech, uncalled for anyway) and that a "female" was driving the bus. There's no moral or social message here, I just find it so hard to believe that people like this man are still around, wandering the world and hopping on buses.

Seriously: if THIS had happened that morning,
do you think I wouldn't be telling you about it instead?
Look at the smiling woman, she is hilarious.

The second strange man got off the bus (okay, I probably missed him getting on, give me a break) when the driver pulled off to take a phone call. This one was a bit older, and his cheeks clearly weren't as red. If you are in a hurry, this may not go down well, that I understand. Although, if that's the choice, I personally prefer them to stop: sure, stop and take your call, by all means, rather driven around by someone with two hands available, thanks very much. But this man in particular seemed to suddenly burst into pure anger for just a few seconds, he then got up from his seat and off the bus (the driver had no choice but opening the doors before he'd destroy them by using his pure instant-developed rage). Then he just stayed there, giving his back to the bus, silently making his point. His wrath had turned into calmed dissatisfaction by then. I may have seen a touch of regret in his eyes when we set off again, maybe in response to the chilly whether he had come to forget about, enveloped by the comfort of the bus. Or simply to the prospect of the long wait for the next vehicle. Luckily, there was some construction work in the pavement, right where he had got off. And he soon seemed to find in closely, thoughtfully examining it the new purpose of his life.

Now you might think this is not curious at all. Maybe it wasn't that interesting and I was just looking for excuses to keep my book in my bag. In all fairness, it's quite a thick book.

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