This morning I was taking the bus into Harm City from Charm County after the Memorial Day Weekend with family, when I found myself sitting across from two women. To the right was an elderly black lady in a dress. To her left was a middle-aged white woman in a sleeveless shirt with strongly muscled shoulders. What follows is my observation of their conversation. The elderly black woman is The Prophetess, her younger white friend Thug Girl, for reasons that shall be made apparent through their dialogue. They seemed to be casually acquainted but not known to each other by name.

Thug Girl: “How are you this morning?”

The Prophetess: “Oh child, I’m fine, out on this wonderful day spreading The Good Lord’s message. Now you take care and beware, for Jesus is coming!”

Thug Girl: “Oh I’ve been tried lately. A couple young guys were cussing at me on the fifteen [bus line that routes from Northeastern Baltimore County through various city ghettos to Southwestern Baltimore County], calling me a 'B’, and a ‘W’, and using the f-word—calling me a honky, just the other day. School kids—junior high.”

The Prophetess: “They need to come to Jesus and stop those hateful ways.”

Thug Girl: “I stuck up for myself. I would not back down—dead-locked them in the eye. I might get hurt but I’m thumping some punks if I’m going down. My mother taught me to go down fighting. Then the one boy started saying he knew where I got off, where I lived, that he was going to hurt me. Then, when my stop came, I said, ‘Well, you getting’ off? This is my stop. Afraid a girl is goin’ to whoop your ass?’ His friend said to him, “Look out Yo, she one a dem thug girlz,’ and they backed down—didn’t follow me. I’ve had it with those kids—thinking of getting a knife.”

The Prophetess: “They were born unto sin, their mothers drug addicted, their fathers removed. I’m headed down there now to spread the word among those children. It is my calling.”

Thug Girl: “Are you a missionary?”

The Prophetess: “Child, I’m a prophet—been singing the Lord’s praise since I was a child myself. I have no children of my own, so all of the people—you included—I look upon as my children.”

Thug Girl points to the knot-roll of money that The Prophetess is counting as they converse. “Be careful that you keep that out of sight in the city. Those punks will jack any one up. They don’t respect the elderly.”

The Prophetess: “Don’t worry child, I’ve been around. Was born in Atlanta…moved to Detroit and Chicago—fifteen years in Chicago. Been out to Denver—all around…spreading The Word, warning people of the Second Coming of The Lord. I’ll be just fine. Jesus has got my back!”

Thug Girl: “Did you work?”

The Prophetess: “Of course I worked child—I had to eat! I am a CPA, have worked book-keeping all my life to make ends meet while I was doing the Good Lord Jesus’ work.”

Thug Girl: “I haven’t seen you in a while. You used to be out on the bus all the time.”

The Prophetess: “Well girl it has been a hard winter, and lately I don’t always feel so good. But fair weather is coming. I’ll be back out spreading The Word. And you take a care child; beware, for Jesus is coming sooner than you think.”

My stop came up, and Ironically, when I got off the bus and stopped for a coffee, another elderly black lady gave me a copy of Our Daily Bread, which is my favorite Christian publication. I am certain The Prophetess would have marked this as a sign, and that Thug Girl might have been more strongly swayed. For my part, it gave me a superstitious chill, as I had, as I waited for the Prophetess’ bus, just read Ernst Junger’s account of the battle of Frosney in 1917, in which he became convinced that his multitude of near death experiences, as his comrades were shredded to jellied meat around him, hinted at a supernatural underpinning for our world, which he equated with the ancient Greco-Roman notions of Fate and Destiny.

One thing is certain, the Prophetess and Thug Girl will be showing up in my fiction. I can’t think of a better way to begin a piece of post-apocalyptic sci-fi than with such a conversation as I listened to this morning on the #58 bus out of White Marsh in Eastern Baltimore County to Plaza Station in West Baltimore.