Buses: Part 5

Essay by spoonman419High School, 11th grade July 2004

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We pulled up to the two who had yelled at us. One was a young drunk in his 20's with a backpack and a ponytail down to his shoulder blades. The other who was with him was also a drunk, but much older. His alcoholic face made it hard to pinpoint his age, though I'd guess him to be around forty. It turns out that the younger one, Randy, had with him a half-gallon of southern comfort in his bag, and was so piss-drunk he was perfectly willing to share with us in exchange for companionship and a ride. His friend, Bill, it turns out was extremely trashed. For the rest of the night he mumbled consistently: No one knew who he was talking to or what he was saying. I'd imagine he was just a lonely soul who'd converse with who ever would listen.

Randy was very loud and somewhat bothersome.

When he got in I was forced to scoot over to an extremely small space in the back. Hayzeus, it seemed, had a container of Kool-Aid with him in the front seat, so we all drove around dropping shots of SC and tropical flavored fruit drink. Randy it seemed, had just gotten out of prison from somewhere in Kansas, and was returning to Ft. Scott to see his family. Mike decided to drive under a bridge to sit and drink with the stereo on: In retrospect it probably wasn't the best of ideas, seeing as how Randy immediately started bragging about the teardrop tattoos under his eye, which I later found out are supposed to mean that he had killed in prison. Randy was in deep conversation with Mike and Hayzeus, and didn't seem to want anyone else to join, except when he told me I was a...