Crazy Man

There is a rotted out couch by the side of the road where homeless men wait for the bus. Cursing and swallowing, tight throats coughing mucus into the eyes of passerby's. Frodo, forty two years old, self-named, self-taught in martial arts and the art of joke telling. He sits and drinks and whines and talks. It is not a bus stop. 

The buses drive by but never stop. The drivers shift in their seats to the mellow sing-song of monotony and Kenny Chesney scraping today's ham sandwich off the roof of their mouths with the tip of their tongues. 

There is a man in the back and he's crazy. He chants melancholy tales of deceit and betrayal, calling out government officials that don't exist. He wears a Guns and Roses shirt with a denim cap and never ties his shoes. 

He gets off the bus and bumps into a quivering hipster, who leaves his shoes untied for different reasons. "Goddam cunt city is upon us goddammit goddammit burn in hell" The crazy man cries and spits malt liquor on the ground.