I rolled up to the Greyhound station in such a hurry that I scarcely noticed my rush until I had crushed my own thumb in a car door. What a mess. With finger bloodied, I made my way to the ticket office and bought the last remaining ticket and THEN staggered to the nearest food vendor in Barstow Station (a local tourism phenomenon) for ice.
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| On break that day with (left to right) Lev, Stephen, and Bryan |
Nursing my wound, I watched idly as the bus rolled up a mere ten to fifteen minutes later only to have the indignant driver address me in a confrontational manner with mock certainty of things I would soon discover to be untrue.
What is this, a cliff hanger!?? What things proved to be untrue? How is your thumb?
ReplyDeleteHehe, cliffhanger indeed. Why blow four days' worth of blog material in a single post?
ReplyDeleteThe driver told me his wasn't the bus I had bought a ticket for. He also said nobody was getting off in Barstow. It turned out neither of these statements was factual.
The thumb grew a dark band of purple under the fingernail that still shows today.