“Please God be something else to somebody else” 

that was a quote he wore etched in black ink on a fire red t-shirt

it bothered him that he had to tell askers that it was a quote  --  he had to suppose they didnt understand

what quotation marks on either end of the sentence were  --  by the Scotsman Irvine Welsh from his novel Filth

he was the kind of man who delighted in reading true words                                                                

it didnt matter to him if they appeared in fiction or nonfiction
both avenues  he argued  ought to be lined with true honest words or why should you waste your time reading them 

when the national News appeared on television hed turn it off if it played any tabloid bits
that owing to the precedence of growing up when nationally broadcasted news had respect for itself
and reported hard news

                                         if someone wanted to be titillated  there was plenty of shit out there

rank Reality TV shows to tune into

he wasnt one to waste his time                                                                                                                       

on the street  occasionally  someone  usually an eidget of male persuasion  would walk up to him and warn him he ought to consider his opinions better

to which he replied  This is the truth  and the truth doesnt bear an opinion

it was those kinds of public interaction that tempered his spirit and fixed him to wear such t-shirts readily  

 
he wore them out more times than he could count
wore them  without any furthur thought or contest  because they were simple unabashedly true statements
                                                     

why would he or anyone be ashamed

why would he  or anyone  be challenged for wearing a prevailing truth on their t-shirt

though  to be frank                                                                   

                               he wore his t-shirts with a hope of arousing the challenge of a braying hillbilly dimwit juiced

on God Smack who viewed their cuntry through an aholes locked door and keyhole prism 

                                                                                                                                                  shining tarting

reflecting off their wet irises

their noses nearly crushed at the wood 

                                                                such stalwart and excellent blinkers

which really took on some fun

for when he saw the bright lighted keyhole stopped up by their faces on the opposite side  he stomped the door panel with the heavy sole of his workboot leaving a black rubber impression of his boot on his side and a black and blue impression on their eyebrow and cheek

it had to be tough if one was honest to explain away why your face was bruised while peering through a keyhole

Yathink

he had a tricky back so the last thing hed be caught dead at would be bent over at a keyhole

it was better for him and his spine to walk erect and wear the words and his convictions on his chest for all to see

it was better to have nothing to hide and be out in front of anyone and all

Conceived out of a cut-up on Easter night,  5  4. 15

1243,  Day-Between-Two-Ts,  8  4. 15

Billy the Bus Driver

the Greyhound bus ran north through Californias Central Coast from Santa Maria

ignoring everything in between it

to San Luis Obispo

ignoring everything in between it   

and on with its Hit Parade

to King City

             one hundred eleven miles of summer brown drab

he did say Hit though

                        a Bullseye!

learning of it  he had to admit he was intrigued

it scratched and tickled his Obsessions belly

encouraged then  he was mighty excited to ride the Greyhound

                                                                           for the rumour of Greyhound shankers

--   Wha

--   Yes Several instances

--   Deaths

--   No I believe woundings

Though I could be wrong

--   But shankers No doubt

--   Not the slightest doubt

--   Hmm

Shanked for what

--   The usual Id think

--   Fine

Then think

Whats usual

Because Im drawing a blank  a big shiny hissing middle-of-last-Century television screen at the end of a broadcasting day  signing off crazy busy bugs crawling all over each other

Whats the usual

--   Well a disagreement  Yeah

--   What would you stab someone over

If they disagreed with you

I wouldnt

--   Well nor would I

--   What else ya got

--   Self defence

--   You carry a knife

--   I dont

--   I do

--   You do

--   I do

--   Why do you carry a knife

--   Why dont you

--   Because I wouldntDONT have a need of one

--   You dont use knives

--   I do

But not that I would carry one

--   They come in handy

Theyre like handkerchiefs

--   A knife is like a handkerchief

--   Yes

Never know when you might need it                                   

Or for what

--   To blow your nose

--   To staunch bleeding if youre cut

Or

To blow your nose

Its not in the Bible fingers crossed no chapter and verse

Better safe than sorry or a Cub scouts fervent cry

                                                     Be Prepared

Just never knowing if or what to be prepared for

Or against

Whadelse someone shank someone over

--   To take something from someone

--   Money

--   Or drugs Booze

A watch jewelry

Or theres more than one person threatening you a couple of quick thrusts narrows the field mighty quick

the bite of steel

hot red blood

Hell whenever you see your own blood you worry
                                                     Like a car leaking oil

Do I got enough to get from Here to There

There Saving my life

--   Yes I can see why you dont carry

--   But you do

--   I do

--   You never said why

--   I suppose I recognise it as a six-inch friend companion

Makes ones reach a little longer and a little sumptinelse to think about

--   Ever use it

--   Have used it lots though only once to change peoples minds

Got chased on Chicagos South Side just as Blacks raise suspicions on the North Side

Three kids
probably my age

a foot chase

I went around a corner grabbing the building edge with my left and swung to a stop Sprung the blade

They came around the corner I screamed Who wants it first

I was squat ears back knife extended

They doubled back
went around the corner

I stormed after them

acting as if I wanted blood
to the corner

then turned and ran like hell

You know it strikes me if you wanted something someone had why wouldnt ya wait until a bus stop and then take it when they left it alone 

People constantly leave their things unattended

--   People hold their money

--   People do

But do you stick someone without knowing how much theyre carrying

People rarely show off their money

                                                                                                   

And rarely people with money travel by bus  

--   Ah Point taken

So

Youre still taking Greyhound

--   If it was good enough for Marilyn Monroe

Its good enough for me

Idve shanked her if shed had me

--   Oh boy

there wasnt a shanker aboard 

maybe a couple dozen passengers

of course better than half were women

they wouldnt shank you

and more than half of them were over fifty  becoming gnarled by menopause

there was a Bible-banger of indeterminate sex under a loose dark-blue hoodie

half the men were student aged

not a one of them came up to his chin or within twenty pounds of his weight

the others were gents congenial  and aged

Yup he was the reigning heavyweight champion on the bus

and if someone was going to shank someone

hed have to do it

and there was nothing to be had
or to rephrase it

there was nothing he wanted to hurt anybody for

or then

       the Then hung around like a dogs tail that had been docked

jutting out a couple of irritating inches
occasional shaking  --  imagining how it might have wagged

once upon a time  --  but denied

then quit shaking

                        there was no Then


maybe Greyhound shankers were mythic

he thought he might ask Billy the Bus Driver though Billy was a spit of a man  a cherub white-haired

who sat across from the only door in or out of the bus

its operation at his fingertips

if there was a shanker

Billyd be long gone before the knife made it to the front of the bus

Billy struck him as having a strong and abiding sense of self-preservation  --  not a virtue to be sneezed at  --  and was well-preserved

                          OR

                           Billy the Bus Driver was armed

a snub-nosed .38

the only way someone could come at him was up the narrow aisle that forced them to angle their hips as they came forward  it bisected the bus

Billy the Bus Driver shot the shanker dead

1144, Wednesday, 18 March 2015