The People on the Bus

Most of my trips away from home begin on the bus. We live about a seven minute walk from the S-Bahn station to the north of us, and our sweet bus arrives outside our door every ten minutes to whisk us up the block in one minute of sheltered warmth. Yesterday’s collection of fellow riders was so fascinating I almost missed my stop.

  • Determined boy battling with his frozen solid apple juice. Wielding his tiny red straw like an Antarctic explorer’s ice pick, he hacked away at the juice cube and then slurped up the chips he’d managed to dislodge. He managed to consume about a hummingbird’s mouthful.
  • Girl with a package about the size and coloring of a box of animal crackers, but with holes in the top. This commercial box turned out to contain a live chick, which hopped up and down, peeping, visible through the holes. I am now on vigilant lookout for where one might purchase a baby chickie in a box.
  • Stoically composed young woman reading the instructions to a pregnancy test. No sign of the kit itself, just a girl and the instructions.
  • Karl Marx sat sternly reading an academic paper. Huge beard, wild hair, and cradling the biggest, cheeriest pomelo I have ever seen in the crook of his arm. Here is a rugged reconstruction:

2 responses to “The People on the Bus

  1. Umm, German apartment chickens!

  2. Lent is approaching. When I was a child, an Easter custom was to get a chick. Chicks offered a selection of pastel-color dyed feathers. I have no recollection of what became of these chicks, recalling only their brief presence as cute chicks. You might think ahead to the chick fate before you acquire your box chick.

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