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On the Bus by John Yohe

One of those rare bus rides home where everyone has their own seat with even a couple empty ones in case we take on more, and the driver is one of the good ones—she doesn’t ride the brake, jerking us back and forth, and best of all: no one talking on their phones. Everyone just lost in thoughts, tired, leaving work, content if not happy, no need even for an iPod—until it happens: a guy in back suddenly yells out, "Hey everybody, how come no one’s talking? My name’s Frank!"

Some laugh, though at him or with him is the question, but I know this man is my enemy and he, and others like him, are the reason for what is called evil in the world.

Some actually do talk to him, loudly, so I quickly put in my earbuds, turning up something with a lot of percussion to drown everything away.

A couple guys change seats, coming up front: my allies.

And so, it becomes just another bus ride. Someone even opens up her phone and calls someone else. Everything is lost. Everything is back to normal.


Born in Puerto Rico, John Yohe lives in Colorado. He has worked as a wildland firefighter, wilderness ranger and fire lookout. He tweets @thejohnyohe and his website is

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