The bus lurched to a stop
The throaty engine died with a metallic click
A metronome death knell
In smoke and steam
And profanities
The driver thrusts open the door
Heaping unthinkable acts upon his employer
All of you stay on the bus
Don’t move
I need to find a phone
Use your cell
I don’t bloody well have one
Peals of laughter
And he’s off
The opening is dark and silent
The sounds have died to whispers
Conspiracy
Relieved by the laughter of children
In adult bodies
Escaping to freedom
A coach load of jesters
Controlled by invisible puppeteers
Surround and dance about
Hey man
I betya a dollar I can tell where you got yar shoes
Okay
Ya got yar shoes on the bottom of yar feet
Laughter
And a dollar
I gotta cool story bro
Tell me
For a dollar
Sold
I knows me a man
He’s real cool man
Cause he’s got dollars man
Youse a cool man, man
Got a dollar for a retarded man?
And they’re off
A dirty dozen
Over made, thick glasses
Bad teeth, push-up bras
Torn shirts, single shooed
Freed from their shackles
From an angry man
From a tired now deceased bus
Trouble in numbers
Safety in numbers
To blend as one
With the culture of the freed
Some more natural freaks
In natures order
That’s cool man
Was worth the deuce
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