The last time I was on a Greyhound I was riding from Newark NJ to Asheville NC. The ultimate destination of the bus was Jacksonville, FL. The other passengers were the usual mix of criminals, migratory workers, and mental patients. About three hours into the trip, a large African-American man started talking to himself very loudly, saying, what I want to know it, why am I even on this bus going to Jacksonville Florida, when me and my old lady, we just dont get along! Unable to find the answer within himself, he began to ask those around him, Hey man, why am I even on this bus going to Jacksonville, FL, when me and my old lady, we just dont get along? My fellow travelers offered no insight into his query, but simply shrugged their shoulders and went back to talking on their cell phones. Eventually, the man got to his feet, looked at the driver, and yelled, Hey, driver! What I want to know is, why am I even on this bus going to Jacksonville, FL, when me and my old lady, we just dont get along? The driver, a huge muscular, dark-skinned fellow, simply looked up and said, Well, brother, Id say youre on this bus going to Jacksonville, FL because you bought a ticket. The passenger thought for a second, finally said, okay then, and sat back down. He was quiet as a mouse for the rest of the time I was on the bus. Whether or not he asked his question again once I had departed, I do not know. Perhaps somehow, in some way, he finally found his answer.
Posted on: Sat, 28 Jun 2014 01:36:01 +0000
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