Sittin on the back seat of a crowded high school bus that's been mostly gutted and mod'ed to hold cargo and small livestock in pens. It's pissin rain again so all the windows are shut and its steamin up like a sauna. Evrythings wet. Ya can imagine what it smells like in here. This things lurching along this "road" like a drunken pack animal, tilts and all the clay pots, wicker baskets, duct-taped luggage, and other shit hanging from the ceiling swings back n forth. One of Jeeps "disappeared" during the day. The one with the cargo rack on the back and roof. So, Mr. Bum talked to some locals and they came up with this bus.
Now, why am I on the bus an not the Land Rover? Mr. Bum's call. Think he mighta had a talk w Superman the security guard.
At least its not too crowded where I'm sittin. Could be the LMTFA/GTFAFM look on my face, machete on my hip...and the 74 Krink in my lap. Some reason today, the folks who are armed are all clearly armed, on display. I'm not "on duty" but I'm always active, tryin to kill time lookin for ghosts in the trees along side the road. The ghosts in here are wet, hackin, desperate, and starvin.
I'm not in my best mood. Drugs dint help.
Almost out of cigs, thinkin bout the Scotch, but jus need to suck it up.
Just talked to a friend. Might be leukemia. Test results back Friday.
In a minute, I'm gonna cut a hole in the fuckin roof and let the ghosts inside pour out like rancid steam.