Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Ghosts live in pockets.

I made a last minute decision and took a trip to S.F. to spend some time with a very good friend.
This isn't the most responsible thing to do.
I am unemployed and insanely broke.
I got a ticket on Greyhound.
I have never ridden a bus, with the exception of city transport or back in my school days.
Not that I am against it. I have just never done it.

Getting on the bus, there was a man in front of me.
He was in a Raiders sweater, had on a necklace the shape of Africa, was soiled and appeared to have wet his pants.
He handed the ticket taker his ticket sleeve. When he unfolded it there was a $5 bill inside.
"Oop, you may want that." He said handing it back.
"God damn ghost, I tell ya. The ghost is livin' in my pocket."
The ticket taker giggled.
"You don't believe me, but that ghost took all my money."

At some point I fell asleep and woke up at a stop.
The man got off the bus. When he got back on he had obviously re-wet his pants.
He sat across the aisle from me and would randomly say things about the ghost.
Or just randomly say "GHOST!"

In between talks of brothels and football teams, he got in a conversation with another passenger about this ghost.
He said he had taken the bus into Reno from Oakland the night before with over two grand in his pocket. He went to the liquor store and than checked his pockets and it was gone.
"The ghost stole it all from me! Can you believe that?"
"Well...uhh...that ain't no good."
"Two grand! Butcha can't sweat the small stuff."
"Ain't that the troof."
"What are you gonna do? Call the po-lice? They sure ain't gonna believe me."


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