I had to take the bus to and from work yesterday. Major disappointment. One day of riding, then back on the bus.
When I stepped onto the bus in the morning, the first thing that caught my eye was two Keith Richards impersonators sitting near the front. They were two blokes, both rake thin, who looked about 20 years older than their actual age. One had a bandana on (always a bad look on anyone over 30) and the other a leather vest. Both had some sort of string bag slung over their shoulder.
The key thing is that they were whacked out of their minds on something. Presumably heroin. They were way too skinny to be dopeheads. Each had a stub of a rollie with them - one had it perched ala Richards style on his bottom lip, whilst the other had his between his fingers and constantly sucked on it.
Even though it was out.
I was waiting for one or both of them to light up so I could yell out, "Hey, smackhead hippies - no smoking on the bus".
If I was the education dept, I'd employ these two under some sort of welfare-to-work program and have them ride a different school bus each and every day. I don't think kids believe the "Just say no to drugs" message, but I think they'll get the "I don't want to end up being a totally uncool smacked out hippie at 50, dressing like a teenager and looking like a complete dick".
They eventually alighted at Norton St, sat down in the bus shelter and immediately lit up and started rubbing their anorexic arms. They were like a pair of old lovers - they sat there with their grizzled heads almost touching, blabbing quietly to each other about anything that happened to pass through their wasted heads. Except of course that each was totally in love with smack.
On the way home, a little old lady approached me at the bus stop and asked me where Hoyts Broadway was. We were standing opposite where the Hoyts cinema used to stand on George St, and my brain refused to acknowledge that the cinema moved a few kilometres down the road some years ago. I used to go to Hoyts quite a lot - a friend worked there as an usher, and I got in for free once a week or so. I looked across the road and my brain saw Hoyts, so I pointed over the road and said "there". Then I realised that she had said "Broadway", and I was completely wrong. I then explained how to get to Broadway by bus - essentially catch any bus that pulled up at the stop we were standing at, then get off when you see the big 1930's style shopping centre, complete with art-deco glass balls on the roof.
That all seemed a bit hard, but thankfully my bus pulled up a few seconds later, so we got on together and I showed her where to jump off. She was going to see "Into the wild", which I had seen previewed on the Movie Show this week. It held no attraction for me, but she was clearly right into it. We chatted about the reviews that David and Margaret gave it, and I was so thankful that she was not a complete nutter. Maybe a bit lonely and quite outgoing, but not mad. Phew. A close shave.
Shortly after, a woman sat down opposite me and pulled out a book on Castro written by George Galloway.
I was very pleased to note that she had bought it at one of those bargain basement shops. It was marked down from $30 to $2.99.
Even then, I reckon she paid $3 too much for it. I wouldn't even give that prick George the annoying hairs from my nostrils.