seen all good people vol 1...

she was a train wreck. The figure of a snowman—or snow-woman in this instance. She was stylish, they always seem to be, despite the Michelin appearance. Her hair was strung out from the abuse of one too many hundred colorings. Currently it resembled the white heat of an electrical arc fault, the bright blinding spark that has killed many a working mechanic. Hideously ghetto, but not it was not what gave me the most pause. As she stood up to exit the bus it appeared, at least from my vantage point, that she produced a small child from her immense back side—from the very seat she was sitting in. The boy looked out of sorts, not from being in the womb, he was somewhat grown and dressed. This was a look of consternation, worrying about where he had come from. i was worried about where he was going...

i found him unsettling from the get. He was a happy enough sort, a short smile etched upon his weathered face, but he seemed askew in his walking shoes. He crept up around me, made his presence known over my blaring play list and immediately showed his ignorance for the native tongue. He showed me a scrap of paper, pointing his wrinkled finger at it. Below what seemed to me to be Chinese characters, they could have Japanese—i'm not familiar with either, was the word 'AIRPORT'. I did my best to explain to the gentleman, knowing he was standing there for some time, in a sort of limbo, that he was not going to get to the airport by standing near me. i as waiting for the Q1 or Q36 bus, to QV, there is no airport in Queens Village. I tried to direct him to walk downstairs to the subway station, where he might find a map or MTA clerk who could misdirect him, as they are masters of misdirection. He wandered off a few steps and then stood in place, as he had since i emerged from the subway. I wondered about the person who knowingly sent this poor man on this wild goose chase when it was more than apparent he lacked the acumen to speak or understand English. What kind of sick world are we living in anyway?...

i couldn't shake them. Like two immovable obstacles to my every step, they stood steadfast. i ducked into sports looking for the Ron Darling title, they clogged my left exit, upstairs to classics—no Jules Verne!, again they hovered. Over to fantasy and back downstairs to the magazine rack. They withstood every shuck and jive and all the while not once realizing their awesome ability to impede the progress of mankind. Oblivious to the world around them, they bantered and debated the inane. i darted for a cup of coffee for the walk across the parking lot that was to come in the cool evening air and they again thwarted me. But just then, they floated towards the pastry case like a hovercraft, allowing me the opening i had waited for. Triumphant, i ordered and awaited the pouring of my coffee while i dug into the small pocket of my over-stuffed back pack. Why in the world, with price and tax a given, would a business choose to charge $2.01? Is there a zinc conspiracy i don't know about?...