RESTORING THE TISSUES

The bus ride back was interminable. Largely because my right leg felt like a steamroller had driven over it. Precisely the Venn diagram of circulatory issues, probable long-standing tissue damage, savage arthritis, and being on my feet for eight hours.
My left leg felt fine. Like it was another person.

Fortunately, someone else on the bus was in worse shape. Although in his case it's far more mental. He has a psychological dislike of all stimuli from outside his own self, and often runs down the aisle moaning while covering his eyes when we come to his stop. This time I got to observe him while he just riding. He was covering his ears till it was there.

Yes, the booga booga is out to get him.
He is right. He should be worried.
Now that he knows, it's time.
He should panic.


I am not the most sympathetic person. I deal with special people all day.


All I want when I get home in the evening is a warm beverage and the company of my stuffed creatures, particularly the turkey vulture, who wishes I would bring back a nice juicy corpse, surely I can bash some tiresome old fossil upside the head for him?

Believe me, Little Fella, I'd love to do just that. But there might be issues if I did. For one thing, they'd be too heavy to schlepp -- quite a dead weight, as it were -- for another they might leave stains in the bus. They'd have to stop the vehicle and force the other people off to wait for a replacement, then hose the original bus down and sterilize it. Can't have other passengers slipping on old man cadaver juices and hurting themselves. It would be a liability, you know. They're very conscious of that. For a third, dragging a fresh corpse down the street might be considered suspicious, especially after night fall. There is a time and place for dead people, and the public street isn't it. Besided, there are a number of stoplights between where the bus drops me off and my front door. They're timed, and I don't know if I can get the old bastard across in time. Cars might hit him. Either the precious soft tissues would be damaged, OR the fenders of the vehicles and possibly the paint. I am not ready to argue whose fault it was as Old Dead Jones there gets stiffer and heavier by the minute, still leaking fluids.
Plus I'd have to wash my hands, and he'd contaminate the carpet.
My landlords would certainly object to that!

In short, it might be problematic.

Did I already mention the warm beverage? For me it's a crucial element. Especially when the glandered old nags in the backroom spent several hours yelling about the ballgame.
Altogether a very long day, and I was a bit frazzled afterwards.
Believe it or not, I'm a sensitive guy.



Now that I've had my caffeinated beverage, I feel considerably better. The body still aches, but the mind is wired to the tits. I'm alive again. It's time to read.




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