Stories about the strange occurrences that unfold on public transit.
(Click on the title to read the full story)
The scent was oppressive. We all had no other choice but to comply with it. To just sit there and take it.
As I was collecting my cash, I realized that the man was standing at the register right behind me.
The yelling intensified as did the interest of the other passengers.
You try to fight it, but you can’t and helplessly drift into an abysmal slumber.
And the guitar, it sounded like a carnival and his breath smelled like a beer.
We look like slightly less hairy, clothed apes.
Many critics laughed at the idea stating the age-old and tired stereotype “Angelenos love to drive”.
It was social anarchy and definitely the most punk moment of my life up to that point.
I’ve come across a wide array of people, some of whom wear all their crazy on their sleeve and others who hide it very well.
It has become a habit of mine to look and palpate any particular bus seat prior to planting my ass upon it.