Orange
I was riding a bus that seemed fairly vacant but I didn’t turn my head too much to see who else was riding it. But then a fat guy sits next to me and I got that immediate uncomfortable feeling of having those last few precious inches of personal space invaded only to be returned whenever his stop was called. I turned my head to look out the window and pretend I had found more room. It was a quite and uneventful ride until one of the passangers began loudly harassing this fat guy next to me. This irate bus rider turned out to be Hunter S. Thompson. What he said seemed to get everyone’s attention, even though none of us could recall what was said. But how he said it was even more impressive than what he said. He comfortably sat back in his chair and still sound and infect like he was across the isle and choking this fat guy next to me. But the true show was the balance of content and delivery. No doubt it had to do with the meta-whatevers of story-telling. And now that I think about it the guy next to me might have been another author- Chuck Klosterman, a reporter for Spin and Esquire. I have no idea what Klosterman looks like but his book (”Sex Drugs and Cocoa Puffs”)was one of the few books I did not like after finishing. To his credit, he can hold his own for 5,000 words. Regardless, it was raining outside of the bus and people were hesitant to exit and the bus was becoming more crowded. I guess none of us wanted to get our orange shirts wet. But why did this whole bus have orange shirts on?
