Learning from the loud ones on the bus

If everyone spoke softly on the bus, or if no one spoke at all, we would miss some fine chances to learn about dialogue, and character, and life.

We would miss the sad, first-person story told to someone on the other end of the phone call or in the seat across the aisle and a couple of rows back…

…a tale about the speaker’s idiot lawyer who wanted him to take a shit deal that would have him locked up a mere thirty days instead of a year when he shoulda got probation…

…about his girlfriend’s asshole parole officer who wanted to send her back to prison just because she wouldn’t fuck him any more…

…about the ex who always whined about child support being late when that bitch was lucky to get anything at all, ever, as hard as it was to get a good job let alone keep one when the bosses were always on your ass for being late.

I mean what the fuck. Fuckem all. Shit.

I pulled the fucking cord so why didn’t this asshole stop? What, is he a fucking idiot?

The loud ones can teach a writer who listens. Listen.