THE DOG HUNTERS (completed)

11 - DEATH BY BUS

No thought, you fucking idiot, you fucking loser, I thought to myself,and I charged at the charging bus. It was all perfect. Part of me gaining awareness that I was much drunker than I thought I was. I had my eyes squeezed shut as I scuttled off the sidewalk into the street,and landed on my ankle wrong, and fell onto my left knee with a crunch that sounded like someone was biting into celery. The SRC wasn't into this. He left my body, and I felt naked and I thought, Great, I'm going going to get run over at weird angle. So much for a simple straight-on smash that pulverizes my brains and cleanly snaps my neck.

Oh well, I thought.

Then I heard the hiss/shriek of air breaks and my whole body got hard and tight, ready for the impact.

But the impact never came. I stayed crumpled in the street, a human lump of coal, denying everything that wasn't about to squash, maul,or pulverize me. I denied the hand on my shoulder, patting me. A voice connected to the hand saying, "Buddy? You alright? You'refucking up my day, man."

The drunk brain can make lightening fast transitions. I was now accepting I wasn't going to die, and I was instantly terrified someone was about to call the cops, in which case it was a for sure I'd get 5150'd.

"Can you get up? Can you move?" The hand gripped my upper arm, pulling me to my feet. The man with the hand, one of those extremely large bus drivers. He wore a fuzzy blue cardigan and bifocals on a chain.

"I'm okay," I told him. "I was just trying to catch the bus. I got turned around."

Obvious bullshit, which garnished a skeptical frown. I started to whine,self-hatred exploding through the top of my head. "I really need to catch the bus."

"You caught it. You got the fare?"

"I got it." I dug my disability card out of my pocket.