Jay Jay noticed people collected at the stop and smiled. He pulled on the shirt, which was kind of big, and then slid into the flip-flops which were too small, slung his belt, and flip-flopped over to the stop as the bus pulled up and the people piled on.
He came to the bus meter and realized he did not have any change. The bus driver gave him a hard look, so Jay Jay pulled out a twenty and began to feed it into the meter, to which the driver said, “Hell no!” grabbed the bill, pocketed it, and, gave Jay Jay a ticket, a day pass.
“Now sit you ass down fool.”
Oh well, it was George’s money anyhow.
He took a seat next to a lady and wondered at his situation.
I might make it. I’ll hit the ATM machine up at the hospital and then grab one of those hacks that drop the dope fiends off at the rehab clinic.
Mexico here I come!
He began to get sick, deathly ill, the pounding in the head more pronounced, just like when George blew smoke in his face.
What is it?
It can’t be cigarettes. People don’t smoke on the bus. Was I imagining it all along and killed George for nothing?
I killed him for Mom!
He heard a sucking sound to his right, and looked at the middle-aged lady, with blotched leathery skin, a worn-out stoner, sucking on some metal thing that lit up on the end. An oily slick of smoke, like some kind of incense oil, pooled around her head and made him all the more ill as it filtered through her brittle bleached-out hair.
Their eyes met and he spoke instinctively, “What the hell is that?”
She snarled like a mythic hag, “Its legal, asshole. Fuck off!”
She then sucked again.
I have to leave.
Jay Jay staggered to the back of the bus and stood, nearly passing out, by the back door, until finally, minute after nauseating minute later, he offloaded with many of the others at the hospital.
It was beginning to rain, so he darted under the bus shelter to wait while he looked for the hack. All day in a car with soaking clothes would suck.
The ATM!
He darted over to the ATM. When he pulled up in front of it, it was out of order.
Shoot. Never mind. I’ll have the hack take me to another one.
The cool air was already making him feel better. Jay Jay ran back over to the bus shelter and ducked under only to be hit by a wall of smoke. Everybody there was smoking. He was the only white person there—except for the old hag with the mechanical cigarette and the big fat one in the scooter. So there was no way he was complaining. He would get his butt kicked—again!
He stepped out into the slow driving rain. Even though it was summer, it was really a little too cold this morning to be standing out in the rain. But it was better than puking up his stomach lining, which was all he had left.
He got some dirty looks from some of the smokers, so he just shook his head and took another step away. A tall bald man glared at him, put out his cigarette, and stalked over, glaring down at Jay Jay.
“Whaz a matta, whiteboy. You racist er some shit!”
It was amazing really, how it went right in, up into the throat, up under the jaw, and right into the brain. It was like sticking a plastic knife into a piece of cheese.
