I've taken the bus for as long as I can remember. 27, and still I don't have a driver's license. Perhaps I'm lazy. Perhaps I like having money guzzled up by entertainment instead of a car. Perhaps I'm falling off topic.
I ride the bus to work every day. Usually it's an uneventful experience. I jam my iPod's earbuds into my ears and listen to loud music as I amuse myself with my thoughts. Normal routine has me considering plans of action for the day, or simply day-dreaming.
The day I'm choosing to talk about is one that was too recent for me to feel comfortable with. November 1st. On my way to work, I was running so late I left my iPod behind.
When I sat on the bus.. absent of the usual tactics I have to ignore the others around me, I felt... off. When I heard a voice behind me.. mumbling softly in the manner that a man would, to a lover.. I didn't pay much heed. Until, of course, I made out his words:
".. I really like your jacket."
That caught me off guard... that someone felt inclined to lean in and whisper such things so softly to me. Tenderly, almost. I froze. I pretended I didn't hear him.. as he had spoken so softly that I thought I could get away with feighned ignorance.
Then, he said it again. Leaning closer. The hairs prickled on the back of my neck as every warning light triggered in my mind due to countless watched television shows on Forensic Sciences and my unhealthy obsession of Serial Killers had me considering that I was, perhaps, a target.
So I went for the door. Turning, I caught a glimpse of the skinny, bald-headed fellow in his grey hoodie. I thought I was home free when the bus let me off and I started walking that extra block to work. Smug, that I had saved myself from creepy weirdo land.
Then I looked behind me.. and he was there. Following.
Needless to say, I booked it to work as fast as I possibly could. Every time I looked over my shoulder, that man was walking briskly after me. Until, that is, I stepped into the pub.
Perhaps coincidence. Perhaps I was merely being paranoid.. but I couldn't shake the distinct feeling that I was being followed.
What is it about a black biker jacket that compels some people?
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1 comment:
I'll tell ya what it is. You look hardcore in it. Like you could straight fuck a man up just to watch him die. Like when a person takes a woman out behind a bar to catch a quick one on the tip, that jacket will be there watching him. Possibly with a superhero in it.
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