Page 21 - Demo

Bozo's Obstacle7Let GoSix months already, kicked out of the navyand let go from his job at the car washthat morning, he sits, in a pea coat, dopedup, inside the Plexiglas bus shelter,with the sun well into its descent.His legs are spread wide, arms acrosshis knees, forming a triangular receptaclefor his pounding head, hanging down.Dirty blonde, dreadlocked hairobscures his stubbly, adolescent face.He doesn%u2019t check out the buses stopping,opening doors, drivers mistakenly expectinghim to board, but then moving on. His eyesare open but glued to the pavement.The only person with nerve enough, earlyin the day, to share the bench with him, leftbehind an empty bottle of scotch before grabbinghis own bus. Everyone stopping by since, takesin the evidence and keeps their distancefrom the sailor boy. A cold gust of wind sendsa sudden chill up his spine. He straightensup with a jolt just as a bus pulls in.He boards with, as ever, no destinationin mind and fumbles in his pocketfor the fare. The driver wriggles a card