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The time I met a man on the bus


One day I met a man on the bus on the way to the beach. A good man, I have no doubt. He had a bump on his head.

“Where did you get that bump on your head,” I asked. How he replied surprised me. It was as if he had answered the phone and couldn’t hear the other person.

“Hello…Hello?”

“Hi.” I wondered, could he be blind? I couldn’t help myself. I waved.

He waved back.

That was apparently all for now, and I was happy to square back up in my seat and look at the scenery for a while. The bus ride was the length and width of a murder mystery dinner party.

Inevitably the man with the bump returned to me. He told me he liked to ride a BMX. To my surprise, I got to see this. We got off at his stop.

I was a long way from the beach. Swirling a cup of what I was told was coffee. Imagine me shaking my head mercifully, in observation of a severely undersized 4-wheeler circumambulating a homemade backyard dirt track walled in by brambles.

He’s late for dinner. A perfect time for me to leave, in retrospect. But it’s been months now, me in this spacious attic and a fresh pair of unfamiliar clothes placed at the foot of my bed morning after morning.

This story was written by Shane Moritz. Shane Moritz has spent his life in the U.S. and Australia, and holds an MFA from Georgia College. He is currently a Baltimoritzean.
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