Some may think that the new town I've moved into, Spokane, is less interesting than my former stomping grounds in the Bronx. In some ways it is, but in other ways it exceeds that northernmost borough. Take the following story.
Last week I ran into a man at the bus stop in a dusty suit and a face meshed with wrinkles. His smell, that of a pungent unwashed sock, sat around him like a defense shield.
I'm not sure why I decided to talk to him. Perhaps it was a look... that look whereupon one senses that another human being has the same view of the world that you do. The man claimed to be looking for a certain bus. The number he gave was much too high to exist in any city, let alone this one, so I leaned away from him, an undercurrent in me bristling at the potential craziness dwelling in this man.
This movement of mine pulled out a torrent of words from the man's mouth. He claimed that the bus was in fact real and he had to get home, for he missed it dearly. It was, the most honest place in the world, he claimed. So honest that everyone there spoke no language at all. Instead they spoke in gibberish since their honesty allowed them to spoke through body language. I didn't believe and so he went on:
As a teen the man had seen a smuggled movie from our world and wanted to speak, despite the please of his elders and so he came here to learn. And learn to speak he did, but in the process he was swindled out of everything he owned since he was so honest. I told him I'd keep an eye out for the bus. He said that some money would be better and he let out a sigh. I gave him all my change and he shuffled off muttering something about this devil's world and how it was to each by his greed and from each by his gullibility and if only he had known this before leaving his paradise on earth.
I'm not sure what he was talking about, but I try to give him change everyday.
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